Bratva Jewel (The Ivankov Brotherhood

Book 6) Sabine Barclay & Celeste

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 Bratva Jewel
The Ivankov Brotherhood
Sabine Barclay
All rights reserved.

No part of this publication may be sold, copied, distributed, reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, mechanical or digital,
including photocopying and recording or by any information storage and retrieval system without the prior written permission of both the
publisher, Oliver Heber Books and the author, Sabine Barclay, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and
reviews.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's
imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is
entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 by Sabine Barclay.
0987654321
Published by Oliver Heber Books
Created with Vellum
 Thank you to all of you who have embarked on this journey with me into the world of The
Syndicate Wars. This series may have come to an end, but you can get your Mafia fix with the
upcoming Italian Mafia, Colombian Cartel, and Irish Mob series.
Happy reading,
Sabine
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 The Ivankov Brotherhood

Bratva Darling
Bratva Sweetheart
Bratva Treasure
Bratva Beauty
Bratva Angel
Bratva Jewel

Do you also enjoy steamy Historical Romance? Discover Sabine’s books written as Celeste Barclay.
 Contents

Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Epilogue

Thank you for reading Bratva Jewel

The Ivankov Brotherhood
Chapter One
Misha
I do not want to do this. The flying commercial part is fine. I’m not so far removed from my early
childhood that I can’t handle flying on something other than our family’s corporate jet. It’s not like
First Class is truly that much of a hardship. It’s the destination. I do not want to be back in Moscow
and not for the same reason as last time. It’s been nearly two years since my last trip, and that was for
a childhood friend’s funeral. A friend who’d been an informant for the Ivankov bratva, my branch of
the Russian Mafia, and who died for it. I’m leaving New York City to attend another funeral, except
this one is for an informant who was one of my father’s closest friends in the KGB. You wouldn’t
think there were such things, but it was often friendships that were the only thing that kept you alive in
those days.
“Excuse me.”
I’m reaching forward into my hand luggage, so I’m past the little wall to my pod. I shift to lean
away from the aisle as a young woman with sandy blonde hair and blue-hazel eyes tries to squeeze
between the pod my friend’s in and me. We’re both broad shouldered, so are the men we’re sitting
next to. Anywhere but First Class makes it hard for us not to overflow our seats.
“No worries.”
I smile at the woman as she passes, and her gaze darts to my brother, Sergei, who sits next to me.
Then to my dad and Grigori behind us, then to Anton, who’s sitting across from me. She returns my
smile, but she’s wary. She’s also fucking hot. Like super-hot. I know none of the men I’m traveling
with will notice, but I do. She’s wearing a t-shirt that strains over her tits. They’re not huge or
anything, but the t-shirt is definitely snug. She has a sweater tied around her waist and jeans on. The
damn sweater’s hiding a view of her ass, but I can tell she has one. I notice her nose is ever so
slightly crooked—the way a broken one often heals. I force myself not to narrow my eyes and demand
to know who hurt her. It’s none of my business, but I’m still thinking about it after she walks by and
heads into the Economy Class section.
“Papa, do you want any of Mama’s cookies?”
I’m speaking English as I offer my dad some of my mom’s molochnyi korzhik. They’re shortbread
cookies that are delicious when dipped in milk. We may be headed to Moscow, and we may have our
accents, but I don’t need to make it obvious. I twist to look back at my dad. It gives me an excuse to
watch the woman as she heads farther toward to back of the plane. She turns to lift her hand luggage
into the overhead bin, and she looks back at me. I pretend not to notice, but I can’t help but be
pleased.
I reach behind me to my father, Radomir Andreyev, to offer him the sandwich bag filled with
cookies. You would never believe the man is a former KGB operative and a former member of one of
Moscow’s most ruthless organized crime groups. They conscripted him into the KGB straight out of
secondary school, and when his time was up there, the Podolskaya demanded he join within days of
returning home to our old neighborhood. My dad is wearing a midnight blue button down with long
sleeves that cover his tattoos, of which he and I—and all the men in our family—have many, and
black slacks. He looks like a regular businessman, not someone whose sole job description has been
violence.
We all look like that. Sergei’s four years older than me, but we look so much alike that people
often think we’re twins. Our hair is blonder than the woman who passed me, and our blue eyes are
most often described as icy. We inherited our eyes from our mom, Svetlana. People have a different
reaction to her. They say her eyes are kind and maternal. The hair comes from my mom’s mom.
Mama’s hair is a deep red.
Anton is the exact opposite of us, with his dark hair and dark eyes, which he inherited from his
father, Grigori Kutsenko. It couldn’t be more obvious that Anton and Grigori are father and son. My
dad has graying light brown hair and deep blue eyes. Most people would say Sergei and I look
nothing like our dad until I smile. Then everyone says I inherited his jokester grin. They aren’t wrong.
My dad’s hilarious, and I like to think I am. According to my family, the jury’s still out.
My dad takes a couple cookies and passes the bag to Grigori. Next, my dad hands it to Anton,
who grabs four before handing it back to me. Sergei practically snatches the bag from me and takes
two of the remaining three.
“What the hell?”
I’m left one—the broken one.
“She’s my mom too.”
Sergei laughs as he shoulder-bumps me, and I can hear Anton chiming in.
“She’s practically my mom, too.”
He isn’t wrong. Sergei and I grew up with Anton and his younger brother, Pasha. I’ve known them
my entire life. He and Sergei are only a few months apart. Our moms and dads have been best friends
since they were kids. As much as my mom is their second mom, I can say the same for theirs.
“Don’t cry, little brother.”
Sergei dangles his own bag of cookies in my face. I snatch them from him.
“I’ll be sure to tell Mama you wiped my tears, old man.”
It’s a thing in our family. The oldest brother gets called “old man,” and the younger brothers get
called “little brother.” It doesn’t matter that there’s eight of us, when you include the cousins Sergei
and I share with Anton and Pasha. We’re all six-and-a-half feet tall and weigh between two-hundred-
twenty and two-hundred-forty pounds. We’re the size of competitive bodybuilders or American
football players who are actually in shape.
“You need a nap. Do you want some milk to go with your cookies first?”
Sergei grins, and I roll my eyes before I tease back.
“Don’t be jealous because I can sleep anywhere. And stay on your side.”
That’s like telling the weather not to snow in Russia. Anton weighs the most in our family, but
Sergei is the biggest. He loves nothing more than to lift weights, and it shows. No one would guess
that he’s an IT genius with an Ivy League education. He’s a little broader across the back and
shoulders than me, and he likes to remind me when we’re in cramped spaces like commercial First
Class.
I stand to put my bag into the overhead bin and glance to my right. God, I am so the spoiled
youngest child in our family. The seats in Economy remind me of just how far we’ve come. I have a
seat that fully reclines into a bed, and I’ll have constant food and beverage service from the flight
attendants. And yet I complain that we’re not flying in our private jet. If anyone could hear my
thoughts, they’d think I was an asshole.
“Humbling, isn’t it?”
Sergei reads me too well as I sit back down in my seat.
“We’ve come a long way from that first flight to America. None of us dared look around. You and
I were too scared to even move. Mama and Papa were nervous the entire flight.”
 We fled Moscow and the Podolskaya bratva. My dad was injured in the Second Chechen War, so
he came home before Grigori. He got us out of Russia and onto a flight to America. A few weeks
later, his best friend, Kirill Kutsenko—Grigori’s younger brother—died in Chechnya. Grigori came
home from the war and immediately smuggled my aunt and cousins to St. Petersburg, where they
caught a flight to join us in New York. It only took a couple days before the Podolskaya figured out
what Grigori did and came after him. He, Alina, Anton, and Pasha hid for two weeks before he got
them out of Moscow, too. All of that for what? We still wound up in the bratva, just in New York.
Irony is a bitch.
“Now look at us. I know you’re grumbling in your head as much as I am, little brother. We’ve
gotten soft.”
I snort. There’s nothing soft about any of us. We’re all senior members of the Ivankov bratva.
What we do for a living—being soft gets you killed. But I won’t lie. The comforts of being obscenely
wealthy these days have their benefits.
My dad and Grigori earned enough to keep us from starving, but none of us were rich when we
got here. It took some illegal enterprises when Sergei, Anton, Pasha, Maksim, Aleksei, Nikolai,
Bogdan, and I—that’s all eight of us, and we range in age from twenty-nine to thirty-two—were in our
late teens and early twenties, but now our wealth comes from mostly our legitimate businesses. Our
bratva money gets reinvested into our community.
“Speak for yourself, old man. It’s just bad timing that everyone else needed to go to Chicago for
that deal. Now that Maks and Laura have the twins, and Bogdan and Christina have Lev, it makes
sense that they’re the ones to take the jet.”
We like to keep our legit businesses in the family too. Everyone has a role, including the wives.
Laura’s an attorney. Ana’s her paralegal. Sumiko’s an accountant. I cock an eyebrow at my brother as
I continue.
“Besides, it’s less conspicuous than if we fly into a private airfield. That’s what people expect,
and I guarantee people have already figured out we’re on the way.”
“True.”
The moment the wheels are up, I’m reclining my chair. I’m asleep before the flight attendant
refills my vodka. I’m certain the others will be soon, too. The flight takes the better part of ten hours,
so there’s no point in wasting it when we all know we won’t be getting much rest while we’re there.
It’s hard to fall into a deep sleep when you’re keeping one eye open.

The five of us approach baggage claim after a quick stop in the airline’s luxury lounge. It’s amazing
how refreshed you can feel just by brushing your teeth. We’ve all changed out of our rumpled shirts
and trousers into the clothes we brought in a garment bag. We may have flown commercial, but we
don’t need to look it. For people in our position, first impressions—or first reminders—are
everything.
I immediately spy the woman I practically drooled over at the beginning of the flight. Since we
were at the front of the plane, my family and I got off well before her. But now we’re all standing
around waiting for our luggage. Grigori and Sergei see their suitcases first. For all the money we pour
into our designer suits, our luggage is understated. I believe mine was like fifty bucks on Amazon. It’s
less likely to make people wonder what’s inside.
 I wander closer to the conveyor belt as the woman leans forward. Her case isn’t large, but it’s
immediately obvious that it’s heavy. I reach past her and pluck it from the moving belt with one hand.
I’m careful not to put it on her toes when I set it down.
“Spasibo.” Thank you.
She sounds like a native. She’s definitely not a tourist trying out a few phrases.
“Pozhaluysta.” You’re welcome.
I nearly said no worries again. It’s an Americanism that I picked up pretty quickly, but I don’t
want to sound like I can’t think of anything else to say. Even if it’s as boring as just you’re welcome. I
catch sight of my bag, so I lean past her and grab it. I don’t really have a reason to linger.
“Do you have anything else you need to get?”
She looks up at me, surprised by my question. She pulls the handle up and shakes her head. She
grins.
“I travel light.”
I smile back.
“If you say so.” I stare a moment too long. “Have a good day.”
I force myself to turn away and join my family, who’ve all gotten their bags. As we head toward
the man we know is our driver, I watch my mystery woman walk outside and hail a cab. I want to stop
her. I want to tell her not to get in some strange Moscow taxi. I want to offer her a ride. But I can’t for
so many reasons besides it being completely creepy. I watch her lean forward and speak to the man,
and she’s clearly a native Muscovite. That does nothing to reassure me.
We have two security cars that are going to follow us, and I’m tempted to tell her to take one. But
that’ll freak her out even more. A strange man telling a woman to get into a tinted window vehicle in
Moscow screams sex trafficker, when that’s exactly what I want to protect her against.
“We’re going to follow her cab, aren’t we?”
My dad comes to stand next to me. I nod. Our drivers will know to be discreet, and she’ll be none
the wiser, but I’ll breathe easier. I don’t know why I care. I shouldn’t. I’m not worried about any of
the other passengers on our flight, and I noticed some other attractive women flying alone. It’s not like
I have time to chase a hot chick while on a business trip. I don’t even do that when I have the time. I
don’t date. What’s the point? It’s not like a relationship can go anywhere.
What do you do for a living?
This and that.
Where do you work?
Here and there.
You’re emotionally closed off.
Yup. Sure am.
That’s pretty much how dating works in my world. I’m not celibate, and it’s not like I’m paying
for sex either. But I’m not in college anymore and thinking with my dick. Would I like to have more
sex? What man in his twenties wouldn’t? I don’t need it though. My left hand works as well as my
right hand if I really get too lonely. I have someone I can hook up with when we’re both in the mood.
“Stop staring, or her cab’ll be gone before we can follow it.”
Anton nudges me, and I realize they’ve already loaded our luggage into the car. We’re in
Volkswagen vans, since there aren’t that many vehicles in Russia designed for large groups of people.
Short of the eight-wheel monstrosity, Avtoras Shaman, even the large vehicles are compact compared
to the U.S. These vans aren’t the SUVs we usually use that are bulletproof and armored or the town
cars and limos that are comfortable with bullet resistant windows. But our connections here
reinforced them enough to keep us alive if we’re in an accident or shot at.
I watch the city whiz by, and memories flood me from nearly twenty years ago. I can remember
winters where the snot would freeze in my nose, and I was sure it would snap off. Winters with hand-
me-down coats from Sergei that didn’t fit because they were still too big. I also remember kicking a
soccer ball around with the neighborhood kids and going to the park with my mom and our friends. I
remember just being a kid.
That all ended when we got to America. The haven never existed. By the time I was thirteen, I
was already in the bratva. Bogdan and I are the same age, and he got sucked in when he was eleven. It
was right after we arrived because he had no father to protect him. Mine and Grigori did what they
could for all of us boys, but more would have gotten us all killed. I lasted two years longer than my
cousins before they yanked me in.
I’m lost in thought for the next two hours, until I focus on where we’re going, and I realize the taxi
we’re following is entering the same neighborhood as our destination. Even now, nineteen years after
leaving the Serpukhovsky District, I can still sense the Podolskaya’s presence. This is one of three
areas in Moscow where they are the reigning organized crime group. People might call the others
organized, but they are nothing like these men. Plenty of former KGB and Soviet Army soldiers joined
after the fall of the Soviet Union. They brought their training with them, and the Podolskaya became
paramilitary. It’s why they sent men to the Second Chechen War. Men who included my dad, Grigori,
and Uncle Kirill. It was Podolskaya men who came to New York and joined the Ivankov bratva who
trained us. We are what we are today because of the men we thought we escaped.
Chapter Two
Kitty
He may be the hottest man I’ve ever seen, but nope. No way. No how. Uh-uh. Everything about him
that makes me want to run my hands and tongue all over him is what’s telling me to stay far, far away.
The aura of danger, of barely controlled strength embodies that idea of animal magnetism. But it’s
also what’s likely to get me heartbroken at best and killed at worst. I know this type of man. I grew up
around them. My mother says my father was like that. And that means I need it nowhere near me.
But fuck. He’s delicious to look at. Those icy-blue eyes remind me of the lakes in Siberia near my
grandparents’ home. The kind that intrigues you enough to stick a toe in, then you regret it because you
just might lose it. They might make me overheat now, but they’re likely to freeze my heart if I get too
close. It would crumble into fractured shards, never to be put together again.
Holy shit. Okay. I can slow my brain down a notch or two. He smiled at me in the plane—or
rather smiled at my tits—and he helped me with my suitcase. It’s not like he’s luring me into bed.
Though… No. I would definitely say no. It might kill me. But then again, he might too. There is no
way he isn’t bratva. I don’t need to ask. No one needs to tell me. I’m a Muscovite from the
Serpukhovsky District; I know when I see one. But damn. I could watch him all day. His smile was
pure sex, and I don’t think he was even trying. God help any woman when he's really trying to charm
her.
And the men he was with. Not a dud in the bunch. At least one set was father and son, and the guy
next to him was his twin. The other older guy must be his dad. It’s easy to tell where the younger guys
got their good looks. The older two are on their way to being straight up silver foxes. I spotted their
wedding rings. Lucky wives.
I never approach married men. That’s why I always look for a ring or a tan line that may as well
be a ring. What did I hear that called once? A shadow of shame. Yeah. A guy slips off his ring to
pretend he’s available, but what looks like a shadow from being paler gives it away. If only Larisa
had paid that kind of attention, I might not be back in fucking Moscow. Fuck, I pray she’s here.
How am I even noticing hot men on planes and in airports right now? That is the last fucking shit I
need to worry about. It’s been three weeks since any of us have heard from Larisa. She might be out
of touch for a few days, even a week, maybe. But where is my sister?
I swallow the gorge rising in my throat, and I fight back my fear as I take calming breaths. Being
here brings back memories I wouldn’t wish on anyone. I swore I would never return, but here I am. I
keep coming back because it’s the only way to see my family. Where are you, Larisa?
“Dve-trista tridtsat' vosem' rubley.” Two-thousand-three-hundred-thirty-eight rubles. A two-hour
cab ride for about forty bucks isn’t too horrible, even if I swear this car has no shocks at all. I felt
every fucking rut in every road. We basically drove across Moscow from top to bottom.
I step out of the cab as the driver pops the trunk and walks to the back of it. I can’t help but notice
the three black vans that drive past. My heart races as I look around. Did my taxi driver signal them
somehow? Where do I run? I’ll have to leave my suitcase. Don’t slow down. Don’t turn around.
Don’t stop. Just keep driving. I’m no one.
As the second vehicle passes me, I’m certain I recognize the man in the passenger seat, but he
doesn’t look in my direction. What the fuck is he doing in this neighborhood? Nothing about his
clothing, or that of his travel companions, says he belongs here. I watch as they pull up in front of a
building a block away and pour out of the vehicle. This time, he does look in my direction, but he
continues to walk. I glance at my driver before pulling money from my pocket. I won’t let him see
how much I’m carrying in my wallet.
“Spasibo.” Thank you.
I pull up the handle to my suitcase and roll it toward the apartment building across the street.
When I reach the door, I have a clear view of the building the men went into, and my heart sinks.
Nothing has changed. It’s a furniture store to anyone passing by. But it’s owned by the pakhan, or
boss, of the Podolskaya around here. I recognize two of the men who greet them at the door. They’re
carrying rifles.
I dash inside before anyone sees me staring. Nosey means dead if you’re looking in the wrong
place. I push the button for the elevator and wait for it to arrive. I breathe a little easier when I step
out and walk down the hall. The smell of cooking onions hasn’t changed in thirty years. The sounds of
televisions and people chatting filter to me through the walls. The walls are freshly painted, and the
light bulbs are actually the energy efficient ones.
I’ve had my keys in my hand since I stepped out of the airport. They’re the only defense I have
right now besides my fists and feet. I unlock the door and walk in as I knock.
“Mama? Papa?”
“Da. Ya na kukhne.” Yes. I’m in the kitchen.
My mom hurries out and engulfs me in a hug that would make the world all right if it weren’t so
horribly fucked-up right now. I cling to her as I steel myself against crying. My mom’s already been
upset enough lately. She doesn’t need to console me too. She kisses my cheeks before pulling me in
for another hug. My parents speak only a few English phrases, so we continue in Russian.
“Where’s Papa?”
“At the store.”
I glance toward the window. He’s at that store. The one those American men went into. No. They
might live in America, but they were definitely Russian. They’ve just been away a long time.
“Have you heard anything today?”
“Nothing. No one has heard from Larisa at all. The police tried to track her phone, but there was
nothing coming back. We’ve asked the pakhan, but he knows nothing. I believe him when he says he’s
made calls. Papa has been there for some of them. She just vanished.”
My mom’s tears start again, and she’s trembling so much that I guide her to the sofa. I can no
longer fight it. Ugly sobs wrack my body as I look around the apartment where I grew up. Everything
is exactly the same as it was when I moved out ten years ago and got my own place. It’s just as it was
five years ago when I moved to New York, and how it’s been every time I’ve come home to visit. It’s
a time warp that makes life familiar and could fool me into thinking everything is the way it should
be.
As my mom wipes her face, I disentangle myself and grab the box of tissues for her. I stand up and
head down the hallway with my suitcase. I put it in my old room before I turn and open the door
across from mine. Larisa’s room is as much a shrine to her as mine is to me. My parents have changed
nothing since we were teenagers. Larisa hasn’t lived here in eight years either.
I hear my mom follow me, so I turn my head to look at her. She’s aged so much in the twelve
months since I last saw her. That was one of the best spring vacations I’ve had since becoming a
school nurse. I’ve already lined up a substitute for at least a week after this break ends. I didn’t get
into any details with my principal, but I let her know I might go beyond my ten personal and sick
leave days. They’re the same thing in my district.
 “Are you hungry?”
“Starving. The meal was gross on the plane, and I came straight here.”
It makes me wonder what that guy ate in first class. I saw him pulling out a bag of cookies. Now
that I think about it, they looked like molochnyi korzhik. Those definitely didn’t come from the airline
or any restaurant in JFK. I enter the kitchen behind my mom and look to the window that faces the
street. If he’s in that building, then I shouldn’t give him a second thought.
There’s not much for my mom and me to chat about while I eat leftovers from her dinner with my
dad last night. I decide to take a shower and get changed. My bed is so tempting for a nap. My mom
suggested it. Who knows when my dad will be back? I’m exhausted from more than just travel. I
climb under the covers, and I’m out a few minutes later.

“Papa, I’m going to Larisa’s. Her neighbors are way more likely to talk to me than anyone else. They
know me, and I’m not a police officer or bratva. They all know I live in America now. They probably
think I have some way to help because of that.”
“They won’t talk at all, Katerina. No one will say anything if they think it might wind up in the
wrong person’s ear.”
“At least let me try.”
“So you can wind up missing too?”
My mom never screams, but she just did. She’s terrified, and I get it. But nothing has worked so
far to learn where my sister went. She left for work and never came home. No one wants to say aloud
what everyone’s thinking. No one’s found her body, so someone sold her somewhere.
“Semyon has already said he’ll go with me.”
“No. That’s even worse.” She turns to my father. “Vadim, don’t let her go.”
I’m not thrilled to see my ex-boyfriend any more than my parents are to hear his name. But he’s a
necessary evil in this case. I’m fairly certain he’ll protect me, and I’m positive he knows the people
to ask because they own the type of places pretty and vulnerable young women wind up in.
I can tell my dad is weighing the options. I can tell the moment he relents. He goes to the credenza
beside the dining room table and lifts out a box. He puts it on the table and pushes it across to me. I
flip open the lid and lift out the gun. I turn away from my parents, pointing it toward the floor. I check,
and it’s loaded. I lift it and position myself as though I’m about to aim. It feels more natural than it
should. I’m wearing my American hiking boots, and I already have a sheathed knife beneath my pant
leg and tucked into the shoe. My dad hands me a switchblade that I flick open and closed. That goes
into my back pocket. If someone ties my arms behind me…It does me more good there than it would
in a front pocket that’s too tight to get my hand in easily. It also lets people know I’m armed, and
someone trained me enough to know I should carry it there.
My dad hands me the waist holster. I make sure the safety is on before I lay the gun back in its
box. I fasten the holster around me, then tuck the gun into my jeans at the small of my back. He gives
me another magazine of bullets that I put in the purse I’ll have slung across me.
My mother’s crying again, and the guilt nips at me.
“Don’t do this, Katerina. I’ll end up with neither of my children.”
“Mama, I have to try. Semyon won’t take me to any of those places. He’ll just be with me while
I’m at Larisa’s apartment. He’ll bring me back before he goes to them.”
 I can’t bring myself to say brothel in either language. Whorehouse is even worse. The very thing
that broke us up may now save my sister. I found out how he liked to spend his time when he wasn’t
with me or working. We were through before I even told him. I have never been so angry at anyone in
my life as I was with him. I told him it could have been his mother or sisters or me forced to live and
work in one of those living hells. He’d shrugged and said it wasn’t. It took all the restraint I could
muster not to punch him. He was—is—the type who would punch back. That wasn’t enough to make
me leave him, but the whorehouses were.
“I need to go now if I’m going to make it back before it gets dark. I don’t want to be out at night.”
My dad nods, but I know the warning that is about to come.
“If you aren’t back by sunset, I’m asking the pakhan to send men.”
“No. Don’t involve him any more than you have. I don’t like knowing we owe him any favors.
You know he keeps track despite your position. I don’t want any of us indebted, and to be honest, I
don’t trust him to bring Larisa home if he finds her.”
“Vypolnyayte obeshchaniya, dannyye drugim voram.” Make good on promises made to other
thieves.
It’s the last line of the Vory v Zakone, the thieves’ code. The code also says don’t have families,
and yet here I stand. They may believe they live by the oath, but it’s obvious some parts are selective
these days. I don’t trust a single person in the Podolskaya bratva to live by any of it.
“The code also says help other thieves, morally or materially. I don’t see the pakhan rushing to
your aid. He’s waiting for you to ask, so he has one more way to control you. I’m not ready to give
him that.”
A knock interrupts what’s about to become a heated conversation. I’m not even supposed to know
a single word of the bratva oath, and I know the whole thing. It took a few years for me to learn not to
be nosey.
I glance at my dad, who hurries to put the gun case away. I sweep my gaze over the living room to
make sure nothing stands out before I open the door.
“Katerina, it’s good to see you.”
I know Semyon speaks passable English because I taught him, but he greets me in Russian for my
parents’ sake.
“Thank you for coming, Semyon.”
There’s not a damn good thing about seeing him, but he’s a necessary evil.
“Mr. and Mrs. Vasiliev, it’s nice to see you too.”
I’m pretty sure my mom just bared her teeth at him. She’s barely five feet tall, but I wouldn’t
wager against her in any fight. She can shoot as well as I do, which is like an expert. And more
importantly, she has a Russian mother’s tenacity. She’ll chew him to shreds. He’d do well to
remember to fear her more than my dad. It was my mom who made sure he understood he should
never hit me again. I was dumb enough to stay with him, even after he learned that lesson. But he
never hurt me again.
“Let’s go. I want to be back before it’s dark.”
I lift my purse strap over my head and kiss my mom as she comes to stand by the door. Semyon
and I remain quiet in the elevator, knowing voices carry. Once we’re on the street, I look around.
People are going about their business because things are fine—or at least normal—in their lives. A
fresh wave of sadness hits me as I turn left. I see movement down the street, and two of the guards
outside the furniture store raise their weapons.
“Stay behind me.”
 Semyon has his hand at his lower back like I do as he shields me. We continue walking as though
we’ve seen nothing. The men from the flight leave as though no one’s pointing a semiautomatic
weapon at them as they climb into the cars. I catch only a glimpse of him. Then they’re gone.
I exhale slowly as I reach into my purse for bus fare. It’s not a long ride, and Semyon fills me on
the little he’s heard about Larisa. No one can make sense of it. She’d gone on one date with a man
who turned out to be married and only visiting Moscow. She blocked his number and didn’t talk to
him. Two weeks later, she was gone. No one knows who this man was because she told no one his
name. She only told me she found out he was married because she saw his phone screen light up, and
it said “Wife.”
We’re headed to a restaurant first that Larisa liked and often went to with friends. I knew if I told
my parents I was going to more than one place, they’d be even more upset. I hate lying to them, but I
really believe I’m the one who’ll learn something. Semyon stops to talk to someone he knows, so I go
straight in. The moment I enter, I know I shouldn’t have. Semyon’s calling my name, and I’m standing
toe-to-toe with the blond man. Fuck. He’s way bigger up close.
Chapter Three
Misha
I feel like a goldfish in a bowl that’s too small. Any and every one can see me, but it’s safer inside.
We can’t wait outside because we’re too exposed. But we won’t go all the way into the restaurant
until one of our guards sweeps the place. He’s like a second cousin three times removed on my mom’s
side. I don’t remember how we’re related, but we’ve known each other since we were kids.
“Katerina, nyet!” Katerina, no!
I turn as a man calls out. I’m reaching for my gun as I come face-to-face with the woman from the
airplane. Katerina. Beautiful name for a beautiful woman. She’s staring at me wide-eyed before she
takes a step backward, then another. She looks toward the door like she’ll bolt, but she doesn’t.
“Mr. Andreyev, she didn’t know the restaurant is closed for a private party. She’s leaving.”
The maître d’ rushes to explain in Russian as he moves as though he’ll step between us and
protect her. I glare at him.
“I don’t hurt women.”
She was about to make her escape, but my tone shocks her. Or maybe it’s the tone and what I say.
She watches me before she offers a tight smile. The man who must have called her name walks up,
and I have a very different reaction.
“What’re you doing here, Semyon? Your—” I glance at Katerina and decide better than to be
vulgar. Something doesn’t feel right. Like I would disappoint my mom if she ever found out. “Your
place isn’t around here unless you moved.”
That’s better than saying your balls finally dropped if you dare come around here. He’s welcome
in a Podolskaya neighborhood as much as we are. The reasons are different, but the welcome would
be about as warm. As in frigid. She doesn’t turn her head, but her gaze shifts to that walking turd.
“Nothing. We were leaving. We got the wrong address.”
“You were a shitty liar when we were kids. You haven’t gotten any better.” I look at Katerina and
switch to English. “Were you planning to have dinner here, and we interrupted your plans?”
“No. I hoped to see a friend, but I don’t think they’re here, anyway.”
She answers in English. I know none of the restaurant staff speaks it, and Semyon only spoke
broken English when I saw him nearly two years ago. I doubt it’s any better. Only my family can
understand us.
“Do you want to look around and see if they’re here?”
She looks doubtful, but then she nods.
“I won’t take long. I don’t want to disturb your party.”
She glances around, and nothing makes it look festive. She knows the maître d’ meant we intend to
eat alone. She’s nervous, but she’s not suspicious. She’s used to this. That piques my curiosity. I think
I make her uneasy more than realizing the real reason the place is empty. Is it just because she’s from
this neighborhood? Or is she the daughter of someone who comes to empty restaurants too?
“Excuse me.”
She steps around me and almost runs into my dad. He steps aside. And so do Grigori, Sergei, and
Anton. She appears less self-assured than she did when she was only looking at me. She hurries into
the kitchen and disappears. I turn back to the others, and the maître d’ leads us to a table where all of
us can have our backs to walls. It’s probably the most popular table in the establishment.
 We’ve already ordered when she steps out of the kitchen. She’s pale, and she looks like she’s
been crying. I’m out of my seat before I realize what I’m doing. I can already hear what Sergei and
Anton are going to say when I get back. I step into her path.
“What happened? Who hurt you?”
She blinks away the tears as she raises her chin. She looks down at her arms, and I realize I
grasped her biceps. My hold is light, and I don’t let go, even when her eyes meet mine.
“No one hurt me, and it’s not your business.”
“Someone made you cry. I’m making it my business.”
“Don’t. I need to go. Sem’s waiting for me.”
My fingers flex for just a moment, tightening to tell her not to move.
“How do you know him?”
“We went to school together.”
“And you’re friends?”
The skepticism in my voice is heavy.
“That’s not your business either.”
“You just got off a flight from JFK wearing American clothes, and your English is as perfect as
mine. He’s a thug who keeps half the whores in Moscow employed.”
She narrows her eyes at me and lowers her voice.
“I know exactly who he is and what he does. Let go.”
“It’s obvious you're from this neighborhood or nearby. But you are not safe with him. I’ve known
him since I was a kid. He will hurt you as soon as he gets the chance.”
I cock an eyebrow to make my point. She glances toward the door again, where I know Semyon is
watching. Let him. He’ll realize she’s off limits.
“No, he won’t. He’s met my mom.”
A twitch of a smile gets smothered as she looks around.
“So, he’s hurt you before. Your mom wouldn’t terrify a man like that unless she had reason to.
She’d stay out of his way, and you’d be smart to do the same thing.”
Her surprise is clear, and it tells me everything.
“Why would you go near him?”
“Katerina, we have to go if you’re going to talk to them and be home before dark.”
I glance over my shoulder, then back at Katerina.
“Prince Charming’s worried your coach will turn back into a pumpkin.”
“And he’s announced that he plans to have me home before dark. If I’m not, then everyone here
will know where to look.”
“It doesn’t have to be after dark for him to assault you or turn you over.”
“I don’t even know your name. Why does this matter to you?”
“It’s Mikhail Andreyev. And it was that piece of shit’s grandfather who took my friend’s mother.
You’re lucky neither he nor his father have killed Semyon yet because he’s no better.”
She sucks in a breath and twists to see behind her. She looks up at me, then darts her gaze to
Semyon. She’s trying to decide, and there is a war going on in her head. I can tell when she decides,
and I won’t like it.
“I know Semyon way better than you do. Believe me. I wouldn’t be with him if I didn’t need to
be. I have to go. Please let go.”
I drop my hands.
“Does anyone else know you’re with him? Would they know to start with him if something
happens?”
“My parents do. I—thank you for trying. I don’t think anyone else ever would. But I have to do
this.”
She steps around me, and I let her go. But I look over her head at one of our guards. I tilt my head,
and he knows I expect him to follow her and give me a full report. There’s something unsettling about
letting her or any woman leave with that douchebag. But we’re strangers. Short of holding her
hostage, what can I do?
“Be careful.”
“I will, Mikhail.”
“Misha.”
She walks away, and I’m left watching. Semyon looks like he wants to gloat, but he straightens
and looks away as soon as he realizes I’m watching him. I offer him my most menacing expression
while Kitty has her back to me. I don’t return to the table until I can’t see either of them.
As I walk back, I realize how I just thought of Katerina. It’s a lot of jumps to get to it, but I
suppose when you’ve spent the past fifteen hours thinking about a hot woman, that leapfrog makes
sense. Katerina can be shortened to Kat. Kitty cats are also called pussycats. Her pussy is something
I’d like to get to know a whole lot better. And I’d like to make her purr. Fuck. Am I sixteen? I suspect
no one’s ever called her Kitty for any reason. Why do I find the idea of having something that’s
special to just me so appealing? If I told anyone any of this, they’d think I was a perv. Maybe I am.
My dad raises both eyebrows, and we both look at Grigori and Anton. To anyone else, they’re
completely calm. To my dad and me, they’re seething. They recognize Semyon too. When Alina was
fifteen, Semyon’s grandfather and uncles kidnapped her on her way home from school. They didn’t
see my mom and Aunt Galina a couple blocks behind her. They would have taken them too. My mom
is still beautiful, but Aunt Galina is beyond words. I’ve never met or even seen a woman more
breathtaking than my aunt.
My mom and Aunt Galina ran the entire three miles home until they could find Grigori and Uncle
Kirill. They were both the same size as Sergei, Anton, and me. Grigori and my dad aren’t as bulky
these days, but they were. It took them and my dad twelve hours to find Alina. They had done nothing
to her except slap her around a little, but she was already at a notorious brothel. If they hadn’t found
her when they did, they might never have.
“What’s she doing with him? She’s comfortable with him.”
My dad watches me, and I know I can’t hide my thoughts from him any better than I can anyone
else at this table. The rest of the world might think I’m indifferent, but they know I’m not. I mean,
besides me rushing across the restaurant, to everyone else I look disinterested now.
“She said she’s known him since they were kids. They went to school together.”
“That means you went to the same school. Do you recognize her?”
My dad looks at Sergei and Anton, but they shake their head. Semyon was the same year as them.
“You sent Oleg to follow her.”
“Yeah. She might be comfortable with him, but that doesn’t mean he won’t mistreat her. Her trust
is misplaced.”
There’s not much else to say about Katerina, so we turn our attention to the disaster of a meeting
we had. We’ve been speaking English at the table because we know there’s slim chance anyone here
can understand us. The place is little more than a hole in the wall.
“They swear it wasn’t them. I still call bullshit.”
Anton keeps his voice low when he says what we’re all thinking.
 “After all that shit with Ana, didn’t they learn?”
Ana’s my cousin Niko’s wife. Members of the Podolskaya held a long grudge, and they targeted
her. Only an hour or so after they got engaged in Greece, men took her. She’s 1990s supermodel thin,
so no one expected her to defend herself and our family like she did. I’ve seen a lot of blood and gore
—a lot—but nothing prepared any of us for the sight we found when we rescued her.
It made most things Vladislav Lushak, the old Ivankov pakhan, taught us to do as torturers look
like a slap on the wrist. She didn’t have the fucked-up childhood that the Kutsenko and Andreyev
brothers did, but she tapped into a darkness that we’ve unleashed before. We swore as teens never to
allow it to control us, but we understand what drove Ana to such measures.
“You thinking of Ana?”
Sergei’s expression says he was doing the same thing.
“Yeah. What happens if Katerina winds up in the same boat? What if that shitbag hands her over
to the Podolskaya?” I shake my head. “This isn’t what we’re supposed to be talking about. Anyway,
the Podolskaya broke the truce by killing Matvey. I cannot believe they had the balls to say they didn’t
do it. We all know they were avenging Gleb and Yaroslav.”
Anton listens to me, but he doesn’t sound surprised by the circumstances when he speaks. I
suppose I’m not really either.
“You know it’s only because they were Vlad’s brothers. They didn’t do it to avenge Nikita, and he
died the worst death. They felt obligated.”
My dad huffs a disdainful laugh.
“They didn’t avenge Nikita for two reasons. He wasn’t Podolskaya, and they don’t think dying the
way he did at a woman’s hand makes him man enough to be avenged. They opened an unhealed
wound by going after Matvey. He may have been an informant, but not about them. At least he hadn’t
been in twenty years.”
He’d kept an eye on a different bratva in Moscow. The funeral’s in a few days, but we had what
was supposed to be a civil sit-down with Timofey Golubev, the newest pakhan. He’s only been in his
position for six months, and he thinks he needs to prove himself. My pakhan, Maksim, is my cousin.
He sent the five of us here, not only so Grigori and Papa could go to the funeral, and we could all pay
our respects to his family, but to remind Timofey what happened the last time the Podolskaya reached
too far. It’s a dangerous proposition for my dad and Grigori to return to the bratva they fled. That’s
how much we want to make our point.
I listen to Anton as he speaks a moment later after taking a sip of water. It’s the only thing we trust
to drink here. We have men in the kitchen watching the chefs. Amazing how someone cooks with
exactly the right amount of seasoning when a gun’s pointed at their temple.
“Timofey’s argument that all’s fair here is bullshit. As if they could convince us that’s why another
branch got him. They did not agree to just leave us alone in the U.S. and everywhere but Russia. They
were to leave us alone period. They were already minding their own business for the most part, so
why now? They’ve already seen what happens when they don’t.”
Sergei looks at Anton as he speaks. As the sovietnik, the head of our Security Group, my brother
is our chief information gatherer. He’s also a computer genius who can hack anything, including the
most secure government systems.
“When we get to the hotel, I’ll pull up all the financials. We tried negotiating. Now we get them
where it hurts. They are going to suddenly find themselves very broke. Without the money, no one’s
loyal to them. The Izmailovskys have been on good terms with the Podolsks until now, which has kept
their branches from murdering each other. But once the Podolskaya can’t provide for their people, the
Izmailovo bratva will move in. Let those two families and their boyeviks fight each other. With no
money, the Podolskaya won’t hit us back soon, and they’ll be too busy trying to keep their old friends
out of their businesses. If we have to make it a little more obvious, then we will.”
Anton is his counterpart as the obshchak. He oversees the Safety Group and forms all our
strategies for our not so legal operations, and he’s our chief enforcer. They’re known as the Two
Spies. If we have to take any real action while we’re here, Anton will plan it. Sergei and Anton have
been best friends since the cradle. They’re only a few months apart in age, and they’ve been
inseparable since they were babies. Maks is the same age and is super close to them both, but it’s not
the same. They’ve been together since high school. Our family has a lot of secrets we’ll take to our
grave, but that’s the biggest, especially while we’re in Russia. But I’m happy for them. I’ve never
seen a couple more in sync with each other.
“We—”
Grigori snaps his mouth shut as someone enters the restaurant through the back door. Our left
hands slip into our trouser pockets ready to pull our knives as we all lean far enough away from the
backs of our chairs to reach for our guns.
“Vadim, what’re you doing here?”
My dad stands and pushes back his chair. The rest of us look around. We startle him, but it’s
almost impossible to tell. He approaches our table slowly and tries to keep his voice light.
“I was looking for a friend who works in the kitchen. I thought about slipping in and having a
quick chat about him and his wife coming to dinner this weekend. Go back to your meal.”
The waiter has just arrived with our plates, but none of us are interested, even if we’re all
starving. The airline hardly served portions large enough to do more than tide any of us over. We went
straight to the meeting after the two-hour drive, so none of us has eaten more than the third bag of my
mom’s cookies.
“Join us.”
My dad makes the offer, but Vadim shakes his head.
“Dariya will have dinner ready soon. I need to head back. It was good seeing you.”
He doesn’t wait before he hurries into the kitchen. He’s aggravated when he steps out of the
kitchen, but his expression goes neutral a heartbeat later. Most people would miss it. He meant for
whomever he talked to in the kitchen to know they annoyed him. He’s my dad’s age, and I would bet
former KGB too. He’s like us because he won’t show his emotions unless he wants people to know.
But he’s not so much like us that we can’t read him.
Grigori leans forward to whisper.
“What the hell was that about?”
I have my own suspicions, and they’re about five-foot-five with sandy blonde hair and blue-hazel
eyes.
Chapter Four
Kitty
It’s not like every neighborhood in Moscow is ready for a gang shoot out. There are plenty of nice
ones where the word bratva means somebody else’s problem. The communities Larisa and I lived in
were like that. We were only twenty minutes from our parents, but both areas have next to no bratva
involvement. Until three weeks ago, it let my parents sleep soundly at night.
“Do you have her key?”
Semyon holds the elevator door open for me as I walk out. I put my sister’s key on my keyring
when I woke up for my nap. It’s been in my hand the entire time. It pressed into my palm while I
clenched my fist throughout speaking to Misha. The caduceus charm with the two snakes coiled
around the staff, a symbol of the medical field, left an imprint.
“Yeah. Here.”
I have my hand around the pistol grip, ready to draw it if anyone other than my sister is on the
other side of the door. Semyon has been shockingly chivalrous today, insisting that he go first and has
been watching my back any time he could.
He eases the door open; when nothing happens, he pushes it open all the way. I step inside, and
nothing looks out of place. I search through every drawer and cabinet. I pull stuff out from underneath
her bed and look at every bottle in her bathroom. It all seems completely normal. I know I’m not the
first person to go through her things. My parents have for sure. But I prayed that somehow, as her
sister, something would stick out to me.
“I’m going to knock next door and see if anyone is home.”
I try Larisa’s first neighbor, but no one comes to the door. I try the one across the hall, and a
woman in her early thirties answers. I try not to get my hopes up. I assume she doesn’t speak English,
so I continue in Russian like I have been with everyone but Misha. Misha. For fuck’s sake. He’s the
last thing I need to think about right now.
“Hi. I’m looking for my sister. She lives next door.”
The woman’s expression grows suspicious. Is it because she doesn’t want to get involved? Or she
doesn’t believe me? Or she knows something?
“I haven’t seen her in weeks.”
“Neither has my family. We’re really scared. Do you remember the last time you saw her?”
“Yeah. It was the day before everyone came looking for her.”
“Everyone? Do you mean my parents or the police?”
“I saw your parents several days later, but the others definitely weren’t the police. At least not the
kind that’s been around since I’ve been alive.”
My brow furrows.
“Do you mean like KGB?”
They’ve been gone since 1991. They were just a history lesson to me.
“Yeah.”
The woman looks around me as though she expects someone to jump out at her.
“Bratva?”
The woman’s eyebrows shoot sky high. Maybe not.
“No. At least, I don’t think so. I’ve never met anyone who’s in the bratva. Possibly.”
 “Did they have guns?”
“Not that I saw. They dressed professionally, but they—I don’t know—weren’t men you’d want to
get in the way of.”
That sounds a lot like bratva, especially since plenty of former members of the KGB basically got
conscripted into the various branches. This gives me a hint, but there are still too many possibilities.
“Do you know anything else? She’s my little sister, and my parents are terrified. So am I. I came
all the way back here from America to help find her.”
A speculative gleam enters the woman’s eyes, and I could kick myself. Now she’s going to bribe
me.
“I spent all of my savings to get here.”
The woman just nods. So much for her impromptu plan.
“What’s your name? I’m Katerina.”
“Katya.”
“So similar.”
“That’s what your sister said the first time we met.”
“Thank you. If you think of anything, please let me know.”
I give her the number to the burner my dad got me while I’m here in case my regular one didn’t
work. It does. But I’m not giving out that number if I don’t have to. I have nearly the same
conversation with three more people on my sister’s floor. One woman heard Larisa refuse to answer
the door two days before she went missing. That was after her accidental and disastrous date with the
married guy. The neighbor saw Larisa arrive after work, so she knew my sister was home. But Larisa
wouldn’t open the door when a man knocked. She said the guy gave up pretty quickly. But who knows
if he really did? Did he wait outside until she left? Did he come back? Did he send someone?
I have no real answers as Semyon and I make our way downstairs, but I don’t think my parents
knew about the men coming to Larisa’s place or this one guy. I need to ask my dad if the bratva is
moving into this area. Could it be Podolskaya? Did my dad fuck up somehow, and this is revenge?
They would have told him by now to make all of us suffer.
The sun’s already gone down. My parents are going to flip. I nudge Semyon.
“We have to hurry.”
“The bus will come when it comes. We aren’t going to miss it.”
He points to the bus stop that’s half a block away. There’s no one there, and I don’t see any form
of public transportation anywhere. Not even a cab. I look around, and my unease grows. I remind
myself that I’m in a good neighborhood where people pay attention to what happens. They’d respond
if someone cried out for help.
We pass into a shadow, and all my senses scream, “get ready to run.” I reach back and slide my
knife from my pocket. I flick it open and keep it pressed to the outside of my thigh.
“Sem, hurry.”
I look over at him because he’s fallen a pace or two behind. We both hear someone approaching.
He reaches for my arm and grasps it as we get ready to run. A massive shape steps onto the sidewalk,
and I pull my gun without hesitation. In one fluid movement, I have the safety off, my finger on the
trigger, and the pistol pointed at my target.
“At least you have some sense.”
What the fuck?
“Misha?”
He steps far enough forward for me to see him clearly thanks to the streetlight that just came on. I
don’t lower my gun until he’s standing in front of me and pushing my arms down. I relent, putting the
safety back on.
“I’m glad you didn’t shoot me, malyshka. But we both know that if I’d been after you, I wouldn’t
be alone. You might have killed me, but what about the others who would have been ready to catch
you?”
I glance around and see the same Volkswagen van from earlier. The sliding door is open, and I can
see the men Misha was with are waiting. The two younger ones are grinning, and the two older ones
look bored. Are those guys laughing at me or him?
“My brother’s going to have a field day with how fast you drew that gun on me.”
“Because I was faster than you?”
“No. If I intended to aim my gun at you, you’d already be dead. He’s going to say I’m a fool to
trust that you wouldn’t be as trigger-happy as most men around here.”
“So, you are carrying one.”
He just cocks an eyebrow. He’s not wearing a suit coat now, and his shirt is unbuttoned at the top.
It’s not just the collar. It’s the regular top button too. It shifts as he steps forward, his hands out to his
sides. I feel my eyes widen. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. Oh, fuck. And not like the kind I wish I were saying
while he makes me come. I shake my head and take a step back as he continues to approach.
“Are you Podolskaya too?”
“Too? Definitely not.”
There’s a hardness to his tone and expression that wasn’t there a moment ago. I point to his right
shoulder. He knows what I saw.
“Then who are you?”
“I’m Ivankov.”
My brow furrows. I don’t know that one.
“Malyshka, this is not the right time of day for any of us to stand out here chatting about this.” He
turns to Semyon and speaks to him in Russian. I hadn’t realized we were speaking English until just
now. “Go away.”
There’s such command in his voice that I fear what would happen to Semyon if I wasn’t there. But
my ex shakes his head and tries to step between Misha and me.
“And leave her to you, Andreyev? Like hell.”
He ignores Semyon and keeps looking at me.
“You don’t belong at a brothel. A, because you don’t look like it, and b, because you’re in a
decent neighborhood. Why are you with him? If you’ve known him since you were kids, then you must
know he—”
“He’s my ex-boyfriend. We dated for five years.”
I can’t believe I just blurted out all of that. Misha’s gazes bores into me, and I wish I could melt
into the sidewalk. He takes a menacing step forward, then another and another until he’s standing in
front of Semyon. He towers over my ex-boyfriend by at least three or four inches, and he’s gotta be at
least forty pounds heavier than him. And it’s all muscle.
“Run.”
“I’m not doing shit, you—”
Misha’s hand whips out and wraps around Semyon’s throat.
“There is only one woman who has stayed with you for that long, and I’ve heard how you treated
her. I heard how you hurt her. You’re nowhere near as big as me, but you’re still way bigger than her.
Run, or I will show you what it felt like to be her. Except I will kill you at the end.”
 I don’t doubt a word Misha’s saying. It should freak me all the way out, but it doesn’t. The bitter
part of me who still hasn’t completely healed from my years with the bastard wouldn’t mind if
someone beat him to death. Lord knows I prayed he would die plenty of times.
Misha releases Semyon, so he can speak.
“Yeah, I was a shit boyfriend to her. I’m lucky her parents didn’t kill me and neither did she. I’d
have deserved it if they had. But I’m not leaving her alone with you, Misha. She may not trust me with
much, but she knows me. Her parents know me. I’m not leaving her side until she’s at her parents’
place. So, fuck off.”
I glance behind Misha to the waiting van. I look at Semyon, then at Misha. Please don’t let this be
the worst decision I’ve ever made. I step closer to Misha.
“Go home, Sem. Misha will make sure I get home.”
“So, you’re suddenly best friends? You going to fuck him the first night like you did me? She gives
great—”
Misha’s fist flies forward as his other hand goes back around Semyon’s throat. I’m a nurse, but it
doesn’t take being one to know Misha broke his nose and likely shattered his cheekbone. He’s already
going purple from how tightly Misha’s squeezing. I reach out my hand and put it on his forearm. Misha
doesn’t look at me, but I feel the tension in his arm ease. He punches Semyon again and lets him fall
to the ground. He drives his foot into my ex-boyfriend’s ribs.
“Do not think for a moment that anyone will defend you. Even if Timofey weren’t so fucked right
now, he wouldn’t give a shit about you. He’d buy me dinner for getting rid of you.”
I’m unprepared for Misha to thrust his hand out to me. I’m unprepared for all of this except for the
part where I’m willing to shoot to defend myself. I place my hand in his, and I’m shocked at how
gentle his hold is. I let him lead me to the van, but I stop him before either of us climbs in. We need to
get off the streets, and I need to call my parents. But I need to know who he really is. Andreyev rings
a bell, but it’s not that uncommon a last name.
“You said you’re Ivankov. Which district is that?”
“It’s not here. It’s New York.”
I’m not sure what to say. Misha’s watching me, waiting to take his cues from me.
“I never go to Brighton Beach. I’m rarely in Queens. I—”
“What’s your last name, Katerina?”
“Vasilieva.”
“Vadim’s daughter? He was looking for you earlier at the restaurant.”
“You know my dad?”
Misha’s expression tells me how stupid that question was. I bite my lip but decide to ask anyway.
“Your star. You’re Elite Group. What are you?”
“I’m not part of the Elite Group, but I’m the most senior avotoritet.”
The authority. A brigadier. Plenty of men move in and out of that position as far as I know. It
depends on what they’re doing and who’s assigned to lead. Even Elite Group members, the senior-
most members who advise the pakhan directly, can be avotoritets if needed. He’s important if he got
an eight-point star for it. It signifies a high rank and plenty of influence.
“Are they?”
He knows I’m asking about his family. Our gazes lock, but he says nothing. It’s a standoff, and I’m
suddenly way too tired to do this.
“If you know I’m Vadim’s daughter, then you know he’s the derzhatel obshchaka.”
It means the bookkeeper. My dad’s an accountant who knows how to do a hell of a lot more than
run reports.
“You’ve already told me which branch you are, even if it is in New York. You’re not keeping your
tats well hidden, and I get why. It doesn’t scare me, but it will scare most people. I’m about to get into
a car with you and five other men and trust that you’ll take me home. It sounds like things between the
Podolskaya and the Ivankovs aren’t good, but I’m trusting you right now. I think I deserve to know
who’s my firing squad or my saviors.”
“Firing squad or saviors?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Do you know the name Kutsenko?”
I twist toward the open side of the van before I spin back to Misha. I’m more scared now than I
have ever been in my entire life. I’m completely unprepared for Misha to wrap his arm around my
waist and draw me against his chest.
“Shh, malyshka. They’re my cousins. We are not going to hurt you. Not my family or our driver.
We’re going to take you home, and I’m going to walk you to your door. My brother is our sovietnik.
The other guy his age is our obshchak. Our dads are mostly retired.”
“Retired? How American.”
I can’t believe I just made a joke, and he chuckled. He smooths my hair back as he eases his hold
on me, but he doesn’t let go. He’s just told me that his brother is one of the Two Spies, and I recognize
the name Kutsenko. They run the bratva in New York. I know that from conversations I overheard
before I left Moscow. The story goes the Kutsenkos’ dad and uncles were all Podolskaya until their
dad died. They left to go to America and got forced into the bratva there.
“I’m too tired to make sense of half of this. Thank you for taking me home.”
He leads me to the open door of the van. I notice the two younger guys moved so that the dark-
haired one is crammed between the two older men, and Misha’s twin is in the front passenger seat.
They left the second-row bench for Misha and me. I’m about to step in when Misha stops me.
“Normally, I would always let you into the car first. But I don’t want you next to the window. If
anything happens, my dad and brother will protect you on the other side.”
I take a deep inhale to calm my completely frazzled nerves now as Misha climbs in first. He
offers me his hand as I scramble in. I’m too tired to be graceful. It’s not a long ride, but I feel myself
getting sleepy. If I just take a long blink for a moment. I look up as Misha slips his arm around my
shoulder and nudges my head to his shoulder. He kisses my forehead gently before he whispers so
quietly, I almost think I’ve already fallen asleep and am dreaming.
“Sleep for a few minutes, malyshka. I’ll protect you.”
Chapter Five
Misha
I keep my eyes straight ahead for the first mile. Then I’m back to scanning out all the windows. The
van is quiet, and I know everyone else is as tired as Kitty, but no one else will nap. Kitty. The name’s
stuck. I glance down at her and tighten my hold around her shoulders. No one told us Vadim was
looking for Kitty, but I’d already figured it out. Then she confirmed it. I know enough about Vadim’s
family and about Semyon to be certain she’s the girlfriend he beat up frequently. From what I know, it
wasn’t all the time. But that doesn’t matter to me. It happened even once—he even thought about
doing it once.
Vadim hasn’t had to let him live because of who he is, but who his grandfather and uncles are.
They’re the Elite Group. It means he remains untouchable. At least to everyone but me. I’ll put a
bullet between his eyes. He’s a waste of a human being, so it makes me wonder why Kitty went
anywhere near him. What does he have or know that she’s willing to trust him even an inch?
As I wonder that, I gaze down at her as my thumb sweeps back and forth over her upper shoulder.
I’m feeling possessive in a way I never have in my life. As the youngest of basically eight brothers,
nothing has been just mine. At least not much. I would make Kitty mine, but this is not the time to be
thinking about that. But it’s the only thing I can think about. I was mostly just the muscle at the meeting
earlier today. My dad and Grigori did the talking. Sergei and Anton were the silent threat to destroy
Timofey and the Podolskaya. And I was just there to flex my muscles that even custom suits are tight
around when I cross my arms.
I’m protective though. Nothing is more important to me than family. There’s nothing I won’t do to
protect them, whether they’re related to me by blood or by marriage. As I glance down at Kitty, I
realize I’d do the same for her. Sergei and Anton have been together for nearly twenty years, even if
they’ve never lived together and no one outside the family knows. Maks and Laura have been married
for just over two years, and Christina and Bogdan are close to that. Niko and Ana have been married
a year, and Pasha and Sumiko aren’t that far behind. Aleks and Heather got married just after New
Year’s. I’m the last bachelor standing.
Our thieves’ code says we aren’t to have families, but it makes no sense, really. Bratva is often
hereditary, so families are necessary to keep the lines going. I swore I wouldn’t marry because I
wouldn’t bring anyone into this life, and I don’t want to create a new generation that’s forced into the
mafia. But as Kitty dozes beside me, her body completely relaxed, it makes me rethink all of this.
She’s Vadim’s daughter, so she knows what the bratva life is. I’m certain she already knew what I
was. It was just the star signifying my senior rank that freaked her out. She was wary before she knew.
Hearing the Kutsenko name definitely made her want to bolt. No one outside our world in New York
knows for certain what our ties are. But there are plenty of rumors, since all four of my cousins are
billionaires in their own right. Sergei, Anton, Pasha, and I aren’t there yet. We’re merely millionaires.
As I watch us enter my old neighborhood, it’s surreal to know how far we’ve come.
When I glance at the furniture store that’s a front for Timofey, I see all the lights are off. That
doesn’t mean people aren’t in the basement. I nudge Kitty.
“Malyshka, wake up. We’re at your parents’.”
She looks up at me with sleepy eyes, and I realize she’d slept deeper than I realized. She looks
around, her cheeks flaming when she sees my family. The driver gets out and comes around to open
the door. A streak of possessiveness courses through me as I watch Kitty put her hand in his as she
steps down. I know I’d be pissed if he didn’t, but I irrationally don’t like it.
“We’ll stay here.”
My dad’s letting Kitty know we won’t assume we’re welcome in her parents’ home. We’ve
already discussed this while we waited for Kitty to come out of the apartment building she went into
with Semyon. They all knew I wouldn’t back down about making sure she got home safely, so no one
said anything against it. I suggested I go up with her and see Vadim. There has to be a good reason for
her to be with her shitbag ex and for Vadim to say he was looking for a friend when we know he was
looking for her.
“I’ll walk you to your door.”
“You really don’t have to.”
I don’t respond except to wrap my arm around her again. She tries to step away as her eyes dart
around. My fingers press against her upper arm, and my next step brings our sides together. The
pressure isn’t enough to scare her, but it warns her not to pull away again. Once we’re inside, I
release her.
“You know people saw us. You may as well have announced to the entire neighborhood that we’re
fucking.”
“But we aren’t.” Yet.
“You claimed me like a whore because no one will believe we’re dating.”
“Why not? Because you wouldn’t be with a criminal? Because you’ve sworn off bratva men? We
arrived at the same time from New York. Plenty of people would believe that’s not a coincidence.”
She glowers at me as we step onto the elevator. She pushes the button for her parents’ floor before
she turns back to me.
“Malyshka—”
“I am not your baby girl. Why do you call me that? You have no right.”
That’s a good question and an accurate point. But who am I kidding? I’ve thought of her this way
since the start. I had plenty of time to consider what it would mean to bring her into my life and what
that would look like. Surviving the upbringing I had meant being able to deeply analyze a situation or
facts and come to a decisive conclusion quickly. I’ve played out various scenarios already today, and
I already know where I want this to go.
“Not yet, maybe.”
“Not ever.”
I take a step closer and peer down at her. She doesn’t step away, and the defiance from a moment
ago slips away. I ease my arm around her waist again, and she doesn’t push at my chest or tense. I
keep my voice low since I don’t want anyone to hear us.
“I’ve never called another woman that in my life. But I think you could do with someone to look
out for you. And if you were with Sem for five years, then you definitely deserve someone to take
care of you.”
“And you think that should be you.”
“We both know it will be.”
“Your certainty is rather pushy.”
“But you aren’t disagreeing.”
My free hand cups her cheek, and she closes her eyes.
“How are you so gentle? No one your size should be. No one who does what you do ever is.”
“Because I will never intentionally hurt you, Kitty.”
 I’m the one who tenses as that slips out. Her eyes snap open as her brow furrows.
“Why’d you call me that?”
“Instead of malyshka?”
I offer her a soft smile.
“That too.”
“Would you let me kiss you before I answer that?”
“My guess is I won’t like the explanation.”
I shrug. She waits a moment, then nods. She tilts her head back before our lips meet. Holy hell.
I’ve kissed plenty of women, but nothing has felt like this. Her lips are plump and soft. Her body feels
amazing pressed against mine. She smells divine. Something floral. As she opens to me, I swipe my
tongue inside her mouth. I can taste the gum she must have chewed earlier. There’s a hint of cinnamon
lingering. She sighs as I deepen the kiss.
When she slips her arms around my waist, I don’t stop her. I’ve never let a woman do that while
I’m carrying my gun. I’ve always kept their hands away, so I don’t have to explain. But I’ve already
felt her gun twice and seen it. Her hands wander over my back while mine slip to her ass. She’s
wearing the sweater she had tied around her waist earlier. Her ass is soft and firm at the same time. I
don’t know how, but I want to do things—dirty, dirty things—to it and with it. I squeeze, but not
enough to hurt. She arches her back, so I tighten my grip. Each bit of extra pressure makes her press
herself against me.
I slide one hand up her back and fist her hair. I hold her head in place and take control of the kiss.
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, and she moves like she can’t get close enough.
“Is this what you like?”
“Yes.”
It’s a breathless answer. I pull away and turn toward the button panel and hit the stop one. I press
her toward the wall until her back is against it.
“I’ve wanted this since the moment I saw you. Every time I’m near you, I want you more, Kitty.
Tell me to stop. Tell me this isn’t a good idea.”
“I can only do one of those. Kiss me, please.”
I dive in for another as I slip a leg between her thighs and press against her pussy. It’s her turn to
pull back.
“I’ve never kissed a man the day I met him. Semyon lied when he said I was with him the day we
met. I was ten. We can’t keep the elevator stopped for forever. Do you just want a quick fuck to say
you had me?”
“I will not say anything about what we’ve done to anyone. It’s no one’s fucking business but ours.
A quick fuck. A long fuck. And everything in between is what I want. But our first time will not be in
an elevator.”
“First time?”
“Do you only want it to be once?”
“I never said I wanted it or agreed with it to begin with, let alone multiple times.”
“You haven’t said it out loud, but we’ve both made it clear. Baby girl, right now is probably the
worst time for me to think about being with anyone. But it’s all I’ve been able to think about. We both
live in New York. Will you let me take you on a date once we get back?”
“A date?”
“Yes. You can feel how much I want you, malyshka. But I can wait until you want that as much,
too. In the meantime, I’d like to get to know you better. I’d like to take you out.”
 “And if I want both?”
Her voice is barely more than a whisper.
“A date and to fuck?”
“Yeah.”
“All you ever have to do is tell me what you want, baby.”
“This is a horrible time for me to be doing this. I can’t believe I’m even considering this, let alone
kissing you in an elevator. But I can’t stop thinking about you, too. I’ll go on a date with you. And I
want—” Her shoulders slump. “There’s no way for anything more right now.”
“I’m not going anywhere. My dick and me will be ready when you are.”
I flash her a smile before I press the button, and the elevator rises until it gets to her floor. I look
around before I step aside and let her pass first. I walk her to her door, and I’m ready to leave as soon
as she unlocks it. But she doesn’t turn the handle. Instead, she tugs my shirt, so we’re not visible
through the peephole. She raises her chin again, and I swoop in for a second time. I nip and tug at her
lip before my tongue tangles with hers. I squeeze her ass enough to hurt, but she doesn’t shy away.
“Is that how you like it? Do you a little pain with your pleasure?”
“I think you could give me that in the only way I’ve ever wanted it, but I’ve never gotten it.”
Her gaze tells me how earnest she is. It makes me want to murder Sem. She wants it rough—the
sex, that is—not the beatings he used to give her.
“I’m not him. I will never hurt you. You will never have to accept what I want at your expense,
Kitty. I may like control, and I may insist on leading, but we’re equals in all of this. When you say
stop, it ends immediately. What you want matters. Always.”
“If only I could just follow when it comes to everything else in my life now, too.”
I cup her face in both hands and press a soft kiss to her lips.
“Why are you here?”
“My sister is missing, and I think the Podolskaya took her.”
Her eyes well with tears, and I pull her against me. She clings to me and tries to burrow closer.
But the door swings open, and we both turn to see her father in the doorway. He recognizes me
immediately, and he lets me see his anger as he speaks in Russian.
“We heard the door unlock, but you never came inside. What is he doing out here? You never said
you knew Katerina when I saw you at the store or the restaurant. Katerina, you never mentioned you
knew the Andreyevs. But you seem to know each other pretty well.”
“Vadim, may I come in?”
Kitty and I always seem to use English, but I respond to Vadim in Russian. He glares at me before
he looks at Kitty. His lips flatten, but he moves out of the way. I wait for her to go ahead of me before
I enter. My gaze sweeps the entire living room, down the hallway we pass, and into the fraction of the
kitchen I can see. I’m memorizing every detail. It’s a modest home with nice furniture and the best TV
you can get in Russia.
Kitty walks around to a credenza as Vadim gestures for me to sit. I watch her remove the gun from
the holster, check it, and put it back in a case that’s sitting on top of the piece of furniture. She handles
it with ease, and her stance was expert-level when she drew it on me. I remain standing since my
parents would throttle me if I sat before Kitty did. Her mom joins us, but she stares at me rather than
sitting in the chair she’s standing beside.
“Mama, this is Misha Andreyev. He brought me home.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” She turns to Kitty. “Where’s Semyon? I thought he promised to bring you
home.”
 “I decided it was better to stay with Misha once we ran into each other.”
“Hello, Mrs. Vasilieva.”
I offer her my hand, and she takes it with some reluctance.
“How are your parents and Grigori and Alina?”
“Everyone is well. Papa and Grigori are with me.”
“I heard.”
That halts the conversation. Kitty comes to stand next to me and looks around. She sits, and her
parents follow her. I take the spot beside her on the sofa. It’s not very long, so it keeps us close to
each other. I pull my phone out.
“I’m going to let my family know I’ll be a little longer than I expected.”
I pull up the texts and scroll until I see Sergei’s name.
ME
Something serious happening with Vadim’s family. Staying up here to find out. Go to the
hotel. I’ll get there later.

SERGEI
What’s wrong? And no, you are not going to the hotel alone.

ME
His other daughter is missing. Send a driver back.

SERGEI
Fine. Should Papa come up?

ME
No.

SERGEI
Text when you need the driver.

ME
Will do. Gotta go.

I slide my phone back into my pocket. I look at Kitty who could see my screen as I typed. I
wonder if she’s pissed that I told Sergei. I wasn’t going to at first, but this isn’t some inconsequential
thing I can mention when I get around to it.
“Papa, I just told Misha that Larisa is missing. He and I ran into each other twice tonight, but I
didn’t say what I was doing.”
“Do you know each other?”
I answer this one.
“Not that well yet. When did your daughter go missing?”
“Three weeks ago.”
It’s Kitty’s mom who answers. She’s studying me intently, and I think I may get her approval. But
hearing it’s been three weeks makes my stomach knot. The likelihood that they’ll find her now is next
to none. I look at Kitty and try to keep my tone light.
“That’s why you were with Semyon.”
“Sorta. I would never go to those places with him, and he said he would ask around tonight. But I
know him, and I knew I couldn’t go asking questions anywhere alone.”
I look at Vadim, who looks anything but pleased to hear Semyon’s name. I glance at Dariya, who I
vaguely remember meeting as a kid. She looks pissed. What the hell did Semyon have on them or
Kitty that they didn’t keep her away from him?
“There’s no one else?”
“Not unless I want it to be a Polodsk, which I don’t. I don’t want any of us to be indebted to
Timofey for anything, so I will not ask for any of his men. The Podolskaya stays out of this, especially
since I think they did it.”
Kitty meets her mother’s gaze before shifting to lock eyes with her father.
“They are not involved. They wouldn’t take one of our own.”
I scoff and shake my head as though he’s stupid. He is if he believes that.
“Like they didn’t take Alina. Like they weren’t after my aunt. Uncle Kirill and Aunt Galina had
four kids in four years to keep the Podolskaya away from her. I’ll never know all the details, but
Uncle Kirill, Grigori, and my dad did things to Yaroslav and Gleb to make sure they stayed away
from Aunt Galina. Whatever they did took part of Vlad’s finger and kept him away from Aunt Galina
for a decade after Uncle Kirill died. And I’m sure you know it was Maksim who made sure Vlad
never tried again. He became pakhan the next day.”
I look at Kitty before I continue.
“Do you know how Gleb and Yaroslav died? They took my cousin Niko’s wife only hours after
she became his fiancée.” I look back at Vadim. “They took a Kutsenko’s woman. You really think they
wouldn’t take your daughter if they were willing to do that.”
“Gleb and Yaroslav held a grudge against your family and Anastasia’s. It’s not the same.”
“Maybe not the same. But if they will go up against the Kutsenkos and Andreyevs, then they would
take anyone’s daughter. You’re not part of the Elite Group, but you’re close enough. You had to know
your pakhan gave Gleb and Yaroslav the go-ahead for Ana’s kidnapping. You had to know what they
planned for her.”
“Papa?”
“I did. And if I’d tried to stop them we’d all be dead. I still don’t believe it’s them. Larisa is
beautiful, but she’s not like Galina was. They took Alina because of Grigori. They thought they could
force him in, but the KGB got to him first. They knew if Grigori joined, Kirill and Radomir would,
too. They should have feared Grig as much as they did Kirill. I saw what they left of Semyon’s
grandfather and uncles after Grig got Alina away from them. Kirill and Radomir just made sure they
each waited their turn. I don’t know how they survived.”
They—Sem’s family—ended up forcing my dad, Uncle Kirill, and Grigori to join once the men in
my family left the KGB. But my relatives made a reputation for themselves that meant most men
wouldn’t look in my mom’s direction or Aunt Galina’s and Alina’s. Best friends with rhyming names.
They said it was always meant to be.
Vadim’s phone rings, and he looks at the screen. Something’s wrong. The blankness to his
expression tells me he’s hiding something. Why doesn’t he look relaxed?
“Privet.” Hello. “Da…Da…Nyet…” Vadim looks at me as he speaks. “Ya budu pryamo seychas.
Ya dumayu, u menya yest' sposob. Spasibo.” I will right now. I think I have a way. Thank you.
Vadim’s gaze doesn’t waver as he hangs up.
“I’m going to trust you with Katerina. I will kill you if anything happens to her. I need you to hide
her.”
Chapter Six
Kitty
“Papa?”
“Vadim?”
My mom and I speak at the same time. What the hell was that call about? Who was that?
“Misha, I need you to take Katerina somewhere safe. You or someone in your family needs to stay
with her. Someone found out she was asking around. They saw her with Semyon and assumed he was
bringing her to one of the brothels. When he showed up at a few without her, someone got pissed. One
call after another got whoever this is enough information to know she’s my daughter and Larisa’s
sister. Then someone saw you walking with her here. I don’t know who it is, and neither did my
informant. But they want her.”
Misha already has his phone out again and is texting his brother. I can see the screen just like
before.
MISHA
Get here now. K is coming with me.

There’re a few minutes pause while my dad’s shooting off texts too, to God knows who.
SERGEI
On our way. Where to next?

MISHA
Hotel for now.

SERGEI
What happened? Injuries?

MISHA
No. Tell you when I see you. Get here now old man.

SERGEI
Coming little brother. Don’t be bossy.

Old man? Aren’t they the same age? Does Sergei call him little brother because Misha’s a few
minutes younger?
He shoves his phone in his pocket as he stands.
“My family will be here in twenty minutes or so. You need to leave, too.”
“We know. We have somewhere to go. But I don’t trust anyone other than you and your family. Do
not let that be misplaced. Your family’s reputation when it comes to not harming women and
defending them is legendary. I’m counting on that with my daughter.”
“Papa, won’t whoever this is be pissed if you’re not here? They’ll know you ran.”
“They can know whatever the hell they want as long as you and your mama are nowhere near
here. Pack.”
The command is for my mom and me. We both hurry down the hallway to the bedrooms. I hear my
dad talking to Misha, but I can’t tell what he’s saying. It’s only a moment later that Misha slips into
my room and closes the door behind him. He puts his finger to his lips and comes to stand in front of
me. He tucks hair behind my ear and leans in to whisper.
“I don’t trust your home not to be bugged. Anything we say, we whisper. Your dad didn’t
exaggerate. The surest way to wind up dead is for someone to come after the women in my family.
Whoever called your dad found out or saw me with you. He knew I’m protecting you. It’s why they
tipped your dad off rather than letting whoever this is come here. You stay by my side anytime we
aren’t alone or with my family. If we’re in public, you’re holding my hand, or my arm is around you.
Kitty, it’s not just for appearances. It’ll be harder to snatch you if I’m holding onto you. And most
importantly, the idea of being more than six inches away from you right now may make me go crazy.”
“I don’t want you involved in this shit. But I’m glad you are. Misha, please don’t disappoint me. If
this is a set up, then just kill me now. I have money. Probably more than anyone would pay you here.”
I’m not prepared for him to spin me around, press me onto the mattress, and spank me. Hard. He
lands five stinging blows to my ass before he pulls me upright and into his arms.
“Do not ever say something so disgusting to me ever again. I don’t fucking buy and sell women. I
will never intentionally hurt you or disappoint you, malyshka. Nothing in the elevator was acting. I
didn’t lie when I said I want to go out with you. We’re about to live together for the foreseeable
future. You’ll learn just what kind of man I am soon enough.”
I wrap my arms around him and burrow against his chest like I did before. I know there’s no
fucking time for this, but I need it. I’m scared out of my mind, but in Misha’s arms, I feel like I might
survive whatever is going on.
“Did you already unpack?”
Misha kisses the top of my head before he steps back.
“No. I was going to do it tonight. I’m ready to go.”
“All right. I’m going back into the living room. Go spend the last few minutes with your parents,
baby girl.”
I make to step away, but we both think better of it. I go onto my toes as he presses his body against
me. I can feel how hard he is for me. Any other time. Our kiss is short but intense. He gives my
backside a light tap.
“Ouch.”
But I flash him a quick smile. He takes my bags and heads to the living room while I knock on my
parents' door. My dad opens it, and I step in before he closes it.
“Who was on the phone?”
My dad shakes his head but pulls out his phone. He shows me his call log. Holy shit. It’s
Timofey’s son. He’s a shestyorka. An errand boy who stands look-out or gathers info. It’s the lowest
position, but it’s usually temporary. Either the boy becomes a full member, or he’s cast aside. He’s
fifteen if I remember correctly. He’s old enough to understand the consequences if anyone finds out.
How badly does he hate his father to risk his life like this? Or how close is he to my dad to be this
loyal?
He leans to whisper in my ear like Misha did.
“If it wasn’t the Andreyevs and Kutsenkos, I would take you with us. You can trust them, Katerina.
After what their family went through to keep the women safe, they’d die before dishonoring their
parents or wives. Listen to Misha and the others. They’ll keep you safe. I can tell you already trust
Misha. I don’t know how you know each other or how well, but trust that instinct. If anything happens
and you get separated from them, you get on the soonest flight to anywhere in America. I will contact
you. Don’t call or text. I hate that, but it’s the only way we all stay safe.”
“All right, Papa. Do you and Mama really have somewhere to go?”
“Yes. It’s away from Moscow.”
My grandfather’s hunting cabin. It’s in the middle of nowhere. Truly. There isn’t another house for
at least twenty miles, and it’s probably close to fifty until there’s a town. It’s tucked into the woods
and near a mountain. Considering how my mom’s dressed as she steps out of the bathroom, they’re
ditching the car somewhere and hiking to it. We’ve had to do that twice in my life. I feel better
knowing where they’re going.
My dad nods, certain I’ve figured it out. Our hug is too short, but I know he needs to change, too.
My mom and I cling to each other. She kisses my cheek over and over, and I rest my head on her
shoulder even though she’s so much shorter than me. I don’t want to let go. At least not unless I’m
going straight into Misha’s arms. It’s fucking ridiculous that I trust a man that I saw for the first time
last night and have only talked to twice.
I rarely do one-night stands, but I have a few times. The kisses we’ve shared are less than what
I’ve done while barely knowing a guy any better. But I only trusted those guys for a good lay. And I
suppose not to murder me or rape me. I’m trusting Misha not to do that either, but it’s a lot more. I
trust him to protect me and take care of me. He said he would, and I believe him.
A knock on the door makes me straighten. I open it, and it’s Misha. He nods, and I know it’s time
to go. I hug my parents together, and they make a sandwich of me like when I was a kid. Misha and my
dad shake hands, and he gives my mom a loose embrace. Then I’m leaving my old home with him. My
dad hurries to get changed, then we’re getting off the elevator with my parents in the underground
parking garage. There’s a different car waiting for us. It only has Anton and Sergei in it. Misha jerks
his chin to two other cars, and I realize his dad and Grigori are in the others. He and I slip into the
backseat, and I twist to watch my parents get into their car. Misha’s dad pulls out first, then we
follow. Grigori follows my parents out. My parents go in the opposite direction, and I twist again to
watch them for as long as I can.
When Misha covers my hand with his, I almost lose it. He laces our fingers together, and the tears
start. They just flow silently as I turn to look forward again. He switches hands, and his now free one
rests on my thigh. It’s just the right type of possessive right now.
“What’s going on?”
Sergei glances at us in the review mirror. I don’t know if he can see how we’re sitting, but his
gaze softens when he sees I’m crying.
“Someone tipped Vadim that Katerina got too much attention. Whoever it was didn’t approve of
her asking questions. Then they saw us together. Either someone doesn’t like thinking we’re together,
or they think they can get to her even though they believe we’re together.”
“It was Timofey’s son. He was my dad’s informant.”
Misha turns to look at me.
“And your dad trusts him?”
“Apparently. I don’t know if it’s someone from the Podolskaya or someone they wouldn’t stop.
But I’m here because my sister, Larisa, is missing. She disappeared three weeks ago. I think the
Podolskaya took her, and now they’re after me for trying to find her.”
“Do you have any idea where she is? Did you learn anything today?”
“A neighbor said a man came to her door a few days before she disappeared, but she wouldn’t
open the door. I know she went on a date with a man she didn’t know was married when she
accepted. She blocked his number once she got home. The same neighbor said men came to Larisa’s
door who reminded her of what we hear the KGB looked like. I asked if they were bratva, but the
woman doesn’t know. I didn’t dare ask if she saw any tattoos.”
“Are there security cameras at your sister’s building?”
I meet Sergei’s gaze in the mirror again as he asks.
“Yeah. At the front and service entrances. But I don’t think there are anywhere else.”
“Do you have the date she was last seen or when these men came?”
“I know when she was last seen. The neighbor said the man who came alone was there two days
before Larisa disappeared. I don’t remember what she said about the group.”
“I’ll pull the security footage and scan the city cameras.”
“You can do that?”
Sergei shoots me a tight smile as he nods. Misha squeezes my thigh.
“What about at the restaurant, Kitty? Did you learn anything there? You were upset when you
came out of the kitchen.”
“My sister’s high school boyfriend is the chef there. They’re still friends and talk all the time. I
thought he might know something that he was too scared to tell my dad since he’s bratva, and this
guy’s family isn’t. He didn’t want to tell my dad that they hooked up the night before Larisa went
missing. She went to his place for a while, then went home. He’d tried to convince her to spend the
night and that he would take her to her place to get ready in the morning and take her to work. He
blames himself.”
“Should he?”
Anton looks over his shoulder at me. I shake my head.
“No. They loved each other, but his family didn’t approve because of my family. They made their
life hell while they were dating. But they’re also not the type to know how to make her disappear or
know the type of people who can.”
“How can you be so sure?”
So, Anton is the real skeptic in the group. He’s not wrong to ask, though.
“His brother and uncle are both Orthodox priests. His mother goes to church practically every
day, and his father only does what his mother tells him to.”
It’s Misha’s turn to shake his head. His expression is sad, and he’s letting me know how he feels. I
know it’s his choice that I know.
“We were all altar boys even when we got to America. We didn’t stop until a year after we
entered the bratva. It seemed wrong after a while. But we all did things and still went every Sunday.
Going to church isn’t an absolute guarantee of a good person.”
I get the feeling from Misha and glancing at the two men in the front seat that their relationships
with God are complex, deeply personal, and still exist. I can’t imagine what their prayers must sound
like.
We pull into a hotel parking structure. I reach for the door.
“No. You do not get out of a car unless someone is already standing beside your door. They will
open it. It’s not chivalry. It’s a sign that it’s safe. Wait until my dad and Grigori get here. Then Anton
will open the door for you. You stay in the circle we make. Keep your eyes down.”
I watch Grigori and Radomir—I just remembered that’s Misha’s dad’s name—stroll over as
though it’s no big deal. Misha and Sergei get out of the car, and once they’re both on my side, Anton
opens the door. Radomir leads the way. Sergei is behind me, Anton is to my left, and Grigori is to my
right, on the other side of Misha, whose arm is around my waist as we walk. Just before the elevator
doors open, he whispers to me.
 “Keep your head down, so the cameras don’t see your face.”
I tip my head forward and run my fingers through my hair, so it hangs down each side of my face.
The moment we’re all inside, all five of them pull their guns. They keep them pointing to the floor. It
tempts me to look up at them, and I think Misha senses that. He slides his arm around me from behind
and shifts. He must have spotted the camera and is blocking it from seeing me. I realize the others all
have their guns where anyone watching the footage couldn’t see them. Grigori and Radomir step out
first, then Misha and I. Anton and Sergei follow. We’re on the top floor, and I only see a few doors.
Radomir opens the hotel room door, and we all walk inside. It’s the most enormous suite I’ve
ever seen. It’s like an apartment. I can see a living room and a dining room area. There’s no kitchen
because who would cook for themselves if they could afford to stay here? There are three bedrooms
that I can see. Radomir slips into one as the other men move around the suite. Anton draws the blinds
and curtains. Sergei gets out six bottles of water. I know that has nothing to do with being too good to
drink tap water. They’re all sealed. Grigori talks to a guard who was already in the suite.
It confuses me when Radomir wheels his luggage across the suite to another bedroom. I look up at
Misha, who’s still standing beside me. He guides me into the room Radomir just left.
“My dad’s going over to share a room with Grigori.”
“Why’s he doing that?”
“So you can be in here with me. You can see there are two queen-sized beds in here. Same as in
the other rooms.”
“Does your dad somehow know we kissed? That we…?”
“No. But I’m almost thirty, and I haven’t hidden how attracted I am to you very well. I don’t talk
to him about stuff like that, but he’s not naïve. They also all know that I won’t sleep if I’m not near
you. Your dad asked me specifically to guard you, and I would have even if he hadn’t singled me out.
Kitty, I’ll respect your privacy and step out any time you want me to. I don’t expect anything. I—”
“Why do you call me Kitty? You didn’t answer me the last time I asked.”
I think he might actually be blushing. He definitely looks uncomfortable, which means he’s letting
me see he’s vulnerable.
“You will not be impressed when I explain.”
“You are definitely blushing now. So, it has something to do with wanting to have sex with me is
my guess.”
“Yes. Kat’s short for Katerina. That makes me think of kitty cat.”
I wait, but he says nothing else. I cock an eyebrow and my chin falls forward a little, prompting
him to finish explaining. He rakes a hand through his hair.
“Kitty cat makes me think about them being called pussycats. And there is a particular pussy that
—” He tilts his head back to look at the ceiling. “I’d like to make you purr.”
I cover my mouth to smother my laughter. His eyes shift to me, and he doesn’t appreciate my
mirth. He goes back to looking at the ceiling. I walk over to him and pull his hands around me to grab
my ass.
“Puuurr, puuurr.”
I can’t not giggle. He tightens his hold until it lifts me onto my toes.
“Don’t tease, malyshka.”
“I think it’s sweet in a very—I don’t even know. Such a boy way. But there is definitely nothing
boyish about you except for that smile you’ve let me see a few times. No one else has ever called me
Kitty. Some of my American friends call me Kat or Katie. I like it.”
I shrug. I do. It’s something that’s ours. I can’t believe that I’m thinking of anything as ours other
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
The Project Gutenberg eBook of Noel's Christmas tree
This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world
at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under
the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org.
If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you
are located before using this eBook.

Title: Noel's Christmas tree

Author: Amy Le Feuvre

Release date: September 16, 2023 [eBook #71664]

Language: English

Original publication: London: Ward, Lock & Co., Limited, 1926

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK NOEL'S CHRISTMAS TREE ***
Transcriber's note: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.

The old mill-house.

"Noel's Christmas Tree" Frontispiece

NOEL'S
CHRISTMAS TREE
 BY

AMY LE FEUVRE

WARD, LOCK & CO., LIMITED

LONDON, MELBOURNE AND CAPE TOWN

MADE IN ENGLAND

Printed in Great Britain by

BILLING & SONS LTD.

GUILDFORD AND LONDON

H2942

CONTENTS
CHAPTER

I. THEIR UNKNOWN BROTHER

II. WISTARIA COTTAGE

III. THE CHRISTMAS TREE

IV. A NURSERY ENTERTAINMENT

V. LESSON DAYS

VI. INEZ APPEARS

VII. INEZ AT HOME

VIII. THE LITTLE RESCUERS

IX. THE COMING OF THE HOLIDAYS

X. THEIR PICNIC

XI. WITHOUT A MOTHER

XII. INEZ'S VOW

XIII. THEIR MOTHER'S BIRTHDAY

XIV. THE GLORY OF THE TREE

XV. TO THE BORDERLAND AND BACK

NOEL'S
 CHRISTMAS TREE

CHAPTER I

Their Unknown Brother

"Dinah, do hurry up!"

A small boy with close-cropped brown head and dark eager eyes was drumming with his fingers on
the windowpane. He turned his head over his shoulder as he spoke, and his tone was impatient.

Dinah, or Diana as she was really called, lay flat on her chest by the schoolroom fire. Big sheets of
paper were before her, and with a good deal of sucking of her pencil she was writing rapidly. She
was very thin and pale; her nurse said she was wiry, and her fair hair was bobbed in the usual
fashion.

"How do you spell alarming, two l's and two m's?" she asked, without raising her head.

"Hurray! Here's the taxi! Such a lot of luggage! You're too late; you can't see it now."

Diana had dashed to the window. They were at the top of a high London house, in one of the quiet
roads of South Kensington, but try as they could, they could neither see the cab nor its occupants
now, and the windows were too heavy to be raised.

"Aha!" shouted the boy, dancing round the room. "I saw, and you didn't!"

"What did you see?"

"A monkey, and a parrot, and a black, and a huge bunch of coco-nuts!"

"I don't believe you. Did you see—Mother?" She added the last word in an awed whisper.

He looked at her, then impishly shook his head.

"I dare say she hasn't come. P'r'aps she's drowned in the sea."

"You wicked, wicked boy!"

"You're always making those kind of things in your stories."

Diana stole out of the room on tiptoe. Her brother Chris followed her. Hanging breathlessly over the
staircase, they vainly tried to see what was going on in the hall. How could Granny have ordered
them to stay up in the schoolroom till sent for, when an unknown mother and brother were arriving
from India! It was too tantalizing! They could hear a great bustle in the hall, and then a little shrill
voice made itself heard:

"I've gotted new boots with buttons."

"That's him," said Diana.

Chris danced up and down in excitement.

"We must see them," he cried.

"Then Granny or Nurse will only send us to bed. Of course Nurse is down there. I hear her voice.
Mean old thing! As if we oughtn't to see Mother before she does!"

But the next moment Nurse came panting upstairs.

"You're to go down at once. Your mother wants to see you. She's in the drawing-room. Are you tidy?"

She passed her hands over their hair, pulled Diana's short brown velvet frock straight, then sent
them down. And strange to say, they went very slowly.

"My heart is thumping!" whispered Diana.

Chris stuck his chest out with some bravado.

"My heart never thumps me!" he said. "I wouldn't let it!"

But when they reached the drawing-room door he hesitated.

When you have looked forward to a thing very much and talked about it every day, and many times a
day, for quite a month, it is rather stupendous when it actually arrives.

And then he turned the door handle, and politely stood back and let his sister go in before him.

"Ladies first," was one of Nurse's favourite maxims. And just now Chris felt rather glad of it!

Granny was in her easy chair with her arm round a tiny fair curly-haired boy who stood leaning
against her knees. Standing on the hearthrug with her back to them, warming her delicate-looking
hands on which were many sparkling rings, was their mother. She was tall and slender, and wore a
close-fitting green cloth gown. She had thrown off her thick fur coat, but wore a little sable toque over
her sunny brown hair. And when she turned round and opened her arms exclaiming, "And here are
my big boy and girl!"

Diana felt a lump rise in her throat. Inwardly she said to herself: "My beautiful mother—"

In another moment Diana and Chris were being embraced.

Little Noel regarded them with a pucker in his baby brow. He did not quite like seeing his mother kiss
them as she kissed him.

"Now speak to your little brother. He has been longing to see you—haven't you, Noel?"

Noel stood out straight with his hands behind him.

"I've see'd them now, Mummy, and they're just like uvver chil'en. Like the chil'en on board."

He did not offer to kiss them, but Diana put her arms round him and kissed him warmly.

"I think you're a dear little boy," she said. "I like your curls!"

Chris shook hands with him, and said nothing.

His mother laughed:

"Take him up to the nursery or schoolroom, or whatever you call it, and you'll soon be friends. I think
I'll have a warm bath, Mother, before dinner. Noel and I had tea in the train. Oh, I'm tired!"

The children left the room, and climbed two flights of stairs in perfect silence.

This new unknown brother with his baby face and flaxen curls was amazingly self-possessed. Diana
tried to take his hand, but he pulled it away from her with a jerk. He seemed to find going upstairs a
great effort, and put his right foot foremost the whole way. When they reached the schoolroom, at
last, he heaved a little sigh.

"It's nearly as high as heaven!" he remarked.

Chris stared at him. He was going to show him the toy cupboard, but Noel suddenly found his
tongue. He stood by the fire looking into the red coals with thoughtful face; then he turned to Diana.

"I like fires," he said, "and puppy dogs, and sa'ngwiches that taste hot and have no sweet in them.
What do you like?"

"She likes paper and pencil best," said Chris. "Dinah writes lovely stories, Noel, about shipwrecks,
and fires, and floods, and earthquakes, and everything exciting, and her people are just going to be
killed and then they're saved, and the girls always have golden curls and blue eyes, and the boys
black flashing eyes and coal-black hair."

Noel seemed impressed.

"What peoples do you know?" he asked. "I have two peoples always going about with me. Do you
know them? God is one, and the Devil is another. God takes care of me and loves me. I love Him
when I'm good, and I push the Devil away; but when I'm wicked, I make friends with the Devil."

"Oh!" cried Diana in a shocked voice. "You mustn't talk out loud about things like that. They're only
spoken in church on Sundays."

"What's church?"

"Have you never been to church?" asked Chris. "It's a house with a pointed roof or tower. Haven't
you got any in India? People go to hear the clergyman read and say prayers, and preach a sermon,
and everybody sings hymns."

"It's very dull," confessed Diana. "Grown-up people seem to like it, but there's a lot of kneeling and
sitting still. Chris and I would like to run away out of it often."

"What do you do it for?"

"It's to worship God, Nurse says."

"Oh," said Noel with a smile, "then it's like what we have in a tent sometimes, when the padre comes
to see us. I went once, and they sang hymns, but we hardly ever have it. I'd like to see a proper
church. Is it like the temples where the idols are?"

"We don't know anything about them," said Chris. "You wait and see next Sunday."

Then Diana began to question the little stranger.

"Tell us," she said, with a little hesitation in her voice, "what is Mother like?"
Noel stared at her with his big eyes.

"She's like my darling Mummy, that's what she is!"

"I mean—is she cross or kind? Does she laugh, or is she shocked? We don't know her, and grown-
up people are so very different, aren't they, Chris?"

"Yes; Granny says some things are wrong which Nurse sees no harm about! And Nurse is cross
about something when Granny is not a bit."

"Where is your monkey, and parrot, and coco-nuts?" asked Diana.

Noel stared at her.

"Shut up!" said Chris, giving his sister a nudge. "I was only pulling your leg. I didn't see them really."

Nurse came into the room at this moment. She took possession of Noel at once.

"Come along, your mother says you'd best go to bed as you're tired out, and I'll bring you your
supper, when you've had your bath."

"No, fanks, I'll stay here."

Noel put his hands in his pockets and looked at Nurse defiantly. She said nothing, but she was a big
woman and Noel a tiny boy. She simply took him up in her arms and carried him off to bed. And Noel
was so astounded that he said nothing. His ayah had been left behind in India, and a young girl who
wanted her passage home had taken charge of him on the voyage. The consequence was that he
had had things pretty much his own way.

"I rather like him," said Diana when the door had closed upon them. "He's a funny boy."

"He's too cocky," said Chris loftily. "I'll soon teach him!"

"But it's Mother I'm interested in," said Diana. "Oh, Chris, I think she's lovely, and she dresses like a
queen, and she's so tall and thin, not fat like Granny, and she had buckles on her shoes that were
sparkling like her rings. I wish we could see her again to-night. Do you think we will?"

"We're going away with her soon," said Chris. "Granny says she's going to take us with her to
Granny's old home in the country. It's that white house with green shutters in the big garden in the
picture over Granny's sofa."

"I know," said Diana, smiling in that soft dreamy way of hers that Chris always called "bunkum." "It's
called Wistaria Cottage, and it will be heavenly going with a strange mother into a strange country!
So many, many things might happen."

Chris laughed, but not derisively. He had had a feeling in his chest when his mother had put her arms
round him and kissed him. He thought he had heard her murmur, "My first-born," but he could not be
quite sure. He asked Diana now if he could be a "first-born."

"Of course, you stupid, if you were born first!"

"Oh," said Chris blankly. "I didn't know it meant that! I was thinking it was a Bible word. Wasn't it in
the plagues in Egypt?"

Diana nodded.

"You're older than me."

"I know that; you generally forget it."

"I go by size."

This was an insult that Chris could not stand. He was a year older than Diana, but she was as tall as
he was, and sometimes it seemed as if she were going to out-top him. Chris prayed in agony
sometimes:

"O God, make me grow, make me grow in the night."

He was always measuring himself, and had been found by Nurse one day lying flat on his bed, his
wrists and his ankles tied to the head and foot rail of the bed. "I'm trying to stretch myself," he said,
and Nurse had laughed at him, and told him he would grow in "God's good time." So now he made a
rush for Diana, and she fled round the room. Chairs were knocked over, and when Nurse came in to
see what was the matter, there was a writhing mass of legs and arms on the floor. Diana was kicking
and screaming for all she was worth. If she were inclined to be the taller, Chris was the stronger, and
he was on top of her now. Nurse soon restored quiet and order.

"You ought to be ashamed of yourselves," she said sternly; "the first evening your mother is here.
She'd be ashamed to own you if she'd seen you a minute ago!"

"Shall we see her again?" questioned Diana eagerly.

"No, not unless you're sent for, and I know your Granny won't do that."

But they did see her again, for when they were in bed she came to visit them in turn. Diana and Chris
had each a small room of their own, and Diana was the first one to be visited.

She sat up in bed with wide starry grey eyes, as she gazed in rapt admiration at her mother. Mrs.
Inglefield had changed her cloth gown, and was in a powder-blue velvet tea-gown edged with sable
fur. A string of pearls was round her white throat. Diana had sometimes hung over the banisters and
watched some of Granny's friends go into the dining-room when they came to dinner, but though she
had admired all their lovely clothes, none of them had ever belonged to her. She put her little hand
out and stroked her mother's long open velvet sleeve. And then her mother knelt by her bed and
looked at her with laughing eyes.

"Do you remember me, my sweet? Five years ago I brought you and Chris to Granny, and I thought
my heart would break. Hasn't she been a good kind Granny to take care of you and keep you for me
all these years? You were such a tiny girl, not three years old. I suppose you can't remember me? I'm
quite a stranger to you."

Diana gave a little gulp. How she wished she could remember! But she wouldn't tell a lie.

"I'm 'fraid I don't remember," she said with downcast head. "But you aren't a stranger, for we've had
your letters, and Chris and I have been counting the days till you came. And, please, we do belong to
you as much as Noel, don't we? But of course he knows you better than we do."

"Oh, we shall all know each other very soon and will be a happy family party! Good night, darling, I'm
very tired or I would stay longer. Where does Chris sleep?"

Diana told her, and Mrs. Inglefield passed on.

Chris received her very gravely and a little shyly.

"My eldest son," his mother murmured, as she laid her hand caressingly on his short-cropped head.
"What talks you and I must have together! I'm very unhappy at being away from dear Dad, but you
seem a little bit of him. You have his eyes, Chris. Such frank truthful eyes your Dad has. He has
never told an untruth in his life, I believe."

Chris gave a little wriggle. He could not say that of himself, but he liked to think he had his father's
eyes. He gazed at his mother adoringly.

What a beautiful mother she was! And he was her eldest son. He smiled at the thought of it.

"Are we going away with you to-morrow?" he asked.

"Oh, no, not for another week. I have a lot of shopping I want to do in town, and I must see
something of Granny. She's my mummy, you know."

This was quite a new idea to Chris. He pondered over it, then he said suddenly:

"Noel is very cocky!"

"Is he? I dare say he may be, poor mite. He has lived very much alone in India, and ruled it over the
native servants. He's a very quaint little soul with decided opinions of his own, though he looks and is
such a baby. You must show him how English boys behave, Chris, and teach him to play fair and
give honour to others. Now, good night, darling."

Chris had never been kissed in such a tender fashion before. He lay back with rapt eyes after she
had left him. "I'm her eldest son," he murmured to himself.

The sound of it warmed and stirred his heart. He felt it was a new calling, a sudden incitement to
heroic deeds. He would take care of her, die for her if necessary. He was a bit of Dad: she had said
so. He must behave like Dad.

Then Mrs. Inglefield visited her baby. She thought at first that he was fast asleep, but Nurse shook
her head.

"He has been very restless and excited," she said in a low tone. "I suppose it is his arrival here. He
slept for an hour straight off and then woke, and I can't get him asleep again."

"Of course you can't," said Noel, hearing the whisper and opening his eyes wide. "It's dreffully hard to
get me to sleep. God has to send an angel to do it and he works at me for hours! And then, pop! Off I
go!"

Then he seized his mother's hand and held it tight.

"Have you been to those uvver chil'en?"

"Yes, darling. What a happy boy you are to have a little sister and brother to play with!"

"I don't want them. They're too large for me. How many kisses did you give them?"

"Oh, Noel, you funny boy! Half a dozen each, I dare say. I never counted."

"Then you mus' give me double half a dozen. You don't know them like you know me."

His mother looked at him a little anxiously.

"Noel, darling, I love my three children exactly the same. I have thought more of Diana and Chris
than of you when we were in India, because they were away from me. Now we are together, and I
am going to show my love as much to them as to you. You are all equal in my heart. I shall give you
half a dozen kisses now. Not one more. Now then, one on each cheek, one on each eye, one on the
top of your darling little nose, and one on your mouth. Good night, my blessing, God bless and keep
you."

Noel took his mother's kisses very calmly.

He blew a kiss to her when she reached the door.

"I fink God likes me better than them," he murmured. "Anyhow, I'll ask Him to."

CHAPTER II
Wistaria Cottage

The next week seemed full of delightful bustle to Diana and Chris. Their mother was very busy
shopping and arranging about their new home; so she did not see much of them in the daytime.
Nurse was packing, and fitting Noel out with English clothes. He continued to be a puzzle and
interest to his brother and sister. They found him a good playfellow, but difficult to corner. Nothing
seemed to shake his good opinion of himself, and he would never acknowledge himself to be in the
wrong. Yet he would talk like a little angel of the Unseen World Above, and had a firm, unshaken
belief that God was his Best Friend, and Jesus Christ His Saviour. His Indian ayah had been an
earnest Christian, and had taught him as she had been taught herself in the Mission School.

His grandmother regarded him with anxious eyes. She asked his mother one day:

"Are you bringing up that child in the crude modern fashion of letting him think himself of more
importance than us older folk?"

"No, Mother, but he has an original mind, and I don't want him snubbed and repressed."

Diana heard this, and pondered over it. Another day her Granny said:

"I still doubt the wisdom of your burying yourself in the country. After your time abroad you will feel
the loneliness dreadfully. I couldn't stand the country, and came to town, as you know. You will have
very few neighbours."

"So much the better. I shall have my children, and I am sick and tired of society life. It is only a year
and then Gregory will be home."

Then seeing Diana standing by, her mother turned to her.

"You won't let me be dull, Diana, will you?"

"Not if I can help it," said Diana fervently; and she there and then registered a vow that she would
not.

The day of departure came at last.

Three happy children were packed into a taxi with Nurse, and their grandmother drove with their
mother in another, behind them, for Mrs. Greyling was coming to see them off at Paddington.

Granny had some conversation with the guard at the station, and the result was that they got a
reserved carriage all to themselves.

The English country was strange to Noel; he was delighted to see some lambs at play in the fields,
and he took a great interest in the different churches which appeared.

"What a lot of houses God has!" he remarked. "How tired He must get of going round and round and
round to them all! Does He never miss any?"

"God is never tired," Diana said rebukingly, "and of course God is everywhere at the same time."

"Isn't it wonnerful!" said Noel with shining eyes.

"I shall go to church next Sunday, shan't I, Mummy?"

"Yes," said Mrs. Inglefield absently as she read her magazine.

"Mummy," said Diana anxiously, "Miss Carr, when we wished her good-bye, said she hoped we
wouldn't forget our lessons. But we're going to have holidays for a little, aren't we?"

"Yes, I think so. I have a good deal to arrange, Diana, but I'm going to look to my little daughter to do
a lot of things for me."

Diana flushed with importance, but Chris said bluntly:

"Dinah is only good for writing stories; she always forgets everything else."

Mrs. Inglefield was deep in her magazine again.

"Shut up!" said Diana, stretching out one slim leg to give her brother a kick.

Chris retaliated at once. Noel looked at them in delight.

"Have a fight," he suggested cheerfully.

Chris instantly was on his best behaviour.

"Men don't fight women," he said; "they're too sloppy, girls are."

"I've got as much muscle as you," said Diana, baring her arm to the elbow.

Chris grinned at her, and said no more.

It was a long journey; and all the travellers were glad when it was over. A car was waiting for them at
their destination. Mrs. Inglefield arranged that the luggage should follow in a cart, and then they
drove along a country road till they came to a pretty village with quaint irregular thatched cottages, a
corner general shop and post office, and a square green with a big oak tree in the middle of it.

There was an inn with a sign of a bright yellow dog hanging over it, and it was called "The Golden
Dog." The children wanted to stop and look at it closer, but on the car went, and never stopped till it
came to a white wooden gate a little way out of the village. There was a drive with trees and shrubs
on either side, and then a low white house came in view, and over the porch door was a winter
jasmine in full flower, and a red japonica was just coming out and was creeping up the house.
"Not a big house, but it is a cosy one," said Mrs. Inglefield, looking at it with content.

The children were delighted with the pretty little entrance hall and the white railed staircase leading
up from the middle of it. Nurse took them straight upstairs. She had lived here before with their
grandmother, and knew her way about. There was a day nursery, a bedroom out of it where Noel
was going to sleep with Nurse; beyond was a little room for Chris, and Diana was going to sleep in
her mother's dressing-room. All the bedrooms were on the same landing, and the windows all looked
out the same way. Chris and Diana were surprised at the one flight of stairs after their high London
house, but Noel found any stairs a difficulty.

"We never has them in India," he said; "and my legs don't like them."

It was nearly dark when they reached the house, so there was no exploring for the children to do out
of doors. But they visited every room inside. The pretty little drawing-room with the big round bay
window at one end of it, the long low dining-room with the square table in it, and some oil portraits of
Granny's family on the wall. The room they liked best was a little boudoir full of beautiful china and
pretty things.

"I s'pose," said Diana wistfully, "that we shan't ever be in the downstair rooms."

"My darling," said her mother quickly, "this is going to be your home. You are welcome to every room
in it; but the drawing-room I must have kept for special occasions. I shall be generally in the boudoir,
I think, until the summer comes, and then we shall all live out of doors." Diana danced up and down
softly on the tips of her toes.

"We shall be full, full, full!" she chanted almost under her breath.

"Full of what?" questioned her mother, with laughing eyes.

"Oh," said Diana, waving her small hands in the air, "full of riches, and joys, and—and love."

Her mother gazed at her contemplatively, but Chris was standing by, and he was eminently practical.

"That's all her story-book stuff," he remarked. "Dinah is always full of words, that's what she's full of."

"Oh, you children!" laughed Mrs. Inglefield. "I suppose I shall get to know you soon. I hope I shall.
Now we're all tired. We shall have our supper very soon, and then bed. And to-morrow—well, to-
morrow we shall see everything. I'm longing to look at the garden."

The little people were very tired, but they managed to peep inside the kitchen, where a stout woman
called Mrs. Tubbs was bustling round and produced some delicious little hot scones from the oven.
There was also a very fat girl there, her daughter, whose name was Cassy. She was about fifteen,
and wore a funny little white cap perched on the top of her head like a big white rosette. Nurse told
them that she and her mother and herself were going to run the house together.

"Lizzie Tubbs and I are old friends, went to the village school here together. I never have liked
London. It seems coming home to be back here."

After Granny's big house and many servants, this new home seemed very small and cosy; but the
children were almost too tired to talk about it. They had a supper of boiled eggs, scones, and a rice
pudding, and then went to bed.

The next morning was sunny and bright. They had their eight o'clock breakfast with Nurse in the
nursery, and then to their joy she turned them out into the garden. "Your mother has a headache and
is having her breakfast in bed. I knew she'd feel it—she's been overtiring herself these last few
weeks, so don't you be making a noise in the garden."
"We shan't be making more noise than the birds," said Diana. "I heard them chattering quite early."

They flew off out of the back door, and found themselves in an old square walled garden. There was
a big lawn with a group of trees at the bottom. All round it were beds for flowers. Fruit trees were
nailed against the walls.

"It's quite large enough for cricket," said Chris, looking at the lawn with satisfaction in his eyes.

Diana walked on to the trees. She stopped beneath an old medlar tree with low branches almost
reaching the ground.

"I shall sit up there and write my stories," she said with a rapt smile.

But Noel had trotted on; he had found between some high shrubs a little twisting path which led to
two gates. One gate opened into a small kitchen garden. Noel surveyed this, with his chin resting on
the top bar of the gate. It did not appeal to him; he turned to the other, opened it and disappeared.
Diana and Chris did not miss him, they were so accustomed to only having each other, that they both
climbed up into the medlar tree and began to discuss this wonderful new life of theirs.

"Isn't it perfectly lovely!" Diana said. "And when the summer comes, Chris, think of the garden with
the flowers and the trees, and Mums in a white dress trailing about, carrying armfuls of roses, and
looking like the fairy queen."

Chris nodded.

"Go on, describe it," he said.

"And that fat girl Cassy bringing out a tray for tea on the lawn with strawberries and ices and all kinds
of cakes," went on Diana enthusiastically.

"And me on the lawn with a new hat, in white flannels, and a boy friend trying to bowl me out, and
Noel fielding for us," put in Chris.

"And I shall be in a hammock swinging backwards and forwards," said Diana, "and writing stories all
day long."

"How about lessons?"

"Oh, don't think of them. They belong to London."

"I say, how thick these walls are! I could walk along the top if I could get there," said Chris. "I think I
could climb up if I got up that tree leaning against the wall. Shall I try?"

"I'll come, too."

Diana was equal to adventure at any time; but Nurse appeared and called them in.

"Your mother wants you. Where's Master Noel?"

"We don't know."

"Fetch him in then. I can't wait."

But they could not find him, and after calling for some minutes, they thought he must have gone into
the house.

Mrs. Inglefield was waiting for them in her boudoir.

"Good morning, darlings. Come and kiss me. I want to have ten minutes' reading out of what Daddy
calls our Order Book for the day. And I want all three of you to come to me every morning at ten
o'clock, will you? Where's Noel?"

"We don't know. Is the Order Book the Bible?" asked Diana.

"But that's only for Sunday," objected Chris.

"Oh, no, indeed it is not. But I must have my baby. Ah, here he is! I hear his dear stumping feet."

Up the stairs plodded Noel. He came into the room with shining mysterious eyes.

His mother took him on her lap. His curls were full of cobwebs and his knees and hands very dusty.

"Where have you been, sweetheart?"

"You never tolded me that God was going to live next door to us," was Noel's astounding remark.

"I hope," said his mother gravely, "that God lives nearer to us than that."

"I went down the paff," said Noel in his little breathless way. "I sawed a gate and I went frough, and
there was a tiny paff and a wall of trees and anuver little gate, and then one of God's houses like we
saw in the train, and it's quite, quite close to us. And there are bumps all over its garden and white
stones with letters, and then I opened a very big door and went in."

He paused, and his big blue eyes blazed with excitement.

"It was raver dark, but the sun came through a beautiful window all red and blue and yellow, and
there were most wunnerful fings in it. Seats, and books, and stools, and little steps into a high box,
and a very big book on a stand, and a stone idol lying on his back with a sword, and some flowers on
a table. And does it belong to us, Mums? It's a church, isn't it? I never sawed one in India."

"No, darling, we have been far away from a church these last three years. You are right. It is our
church, but it doesn't belong to me especially. But Granny was allowed to have a little gate made into
the churchyard when she lived here. It saved her a longer walk."

"And I went into a little room where there were white dresses hanging, and then I found anuver door
with steps up, and I went up and up and up near the sky, and there was a tangle of ropes like on
board ship, and some great 'normous bells, and I climbed and climbed and I came out right frough
anuver door to a wall where I sawed the whole world!"

"You got up to the tower through the belfry," said his mother. "No wonder you are dusty, and it was
dangerous, Noel: you mustn't go up there by yourself again. You might have fallen."

"May I go there on Sunday?" demanded Noel.

"Yes, to church. We'll all go together. Now I want you to be quiet, and I'm going to begin the Gospel
of St. Matthew, about the little Christmas Babe. I think Diana and Chris might read the verses with
me."

The children thought their mother's Bible reading very strange, but interesting. When it was over they
were sent into the garden again, and their mother told them she would join them there. Noel was
rather quiet till they got out of the house, then he said to Chris rather truculently.

"I s'pose you know I'm one of God's specials?"

"What's that?" asked Chris.

"Well, it's His favrit boy. Jesus Christ and me have the same birfday. God borned me on Christmas
Day."

"Oh, I see," said Diana; "but that won't make any difference to God."

"I'm a Christmas child," said Noel, staring at her gravely, "that's why I'm called Noel. It means
Christmas. It's a very grand and wunnerful thing to have the same birfday as Jesus Christ."

"Oh, come on!" exclaimed Chris impatiently. "You aren't grand or wonderful, Noel. Why, you hardly
know how to run! Race me to the medlar. I'll give you ten yards' start. I'll guess at it."

Noel did his best, but he certainly was not a good runner: he waddled and he panted, and several
times nearly tumbled headlong. But the run had taken his thoughts off himself, and when Mrs.
Inglefield joined them, he was as eager as the others to see everything, and to hear about the time
when his mother lived here as a little girl.

"This is where I used to have my garden," she said, taking them to a corner under the high wall. "I
remember quite well when I sowed some little shells in it which I had brought from the seaside, and
thought that fishes might come up out of the ground! Would you each like a garden?"

There was an eager assent from all three children.

Mrs. Inglefield began to measure out ground in the large herbaceous border.

"What shall we plant in them?" Diana asked.

"Anything and everything you like. I know a dear old gardener outside the village who is a florist and
has a nursery for flowers and plants. Shall we all go and see him one day and ask him for seeds and
plants? I will give you three shillings each to lay out in seeds."

"Oh, thank you," cried Diana, "but let's go to-day."

"Yes, don't let us wait," said Chris; "not a minute, as they might be growing."

Their mother laughed.

"Perhaps this afternoon I can manage it; but I have letters to write. It is mail day, and poor Daddy
would be dreadfully disappointed if I didn't send him a letter."

"You can give him my big love," said Noel, "and tell him I'm going to be a church gardener."

"Are you?" said his mother, smiling at Diana and Chris, who always listened to Noel's statements
with open eyes and mouths.

"Yes," nodded Noel, "I've just made it up, but I aren't going to tell nobody how I'll do it. It's a secret."

He would say no more, but pursed up his button of a mouth till it looked like a marble.

Then Mrs. Inglefield showed them the kitchen garden, and a shed in it where they might keep their
gardening tools. An old man was in it, and Mrs. Inglefield spoke to him very pleasantly.

"Well, Foster, I see you have kept the garden in beautiful order," she said. "We're quite old friends.
You were here before I went to India."

"A've bin fourteen year in this garden this coming midsummer," said the old man importantly.

"And these are my children, Foster. I'm going to try to make them gardeners."